It's knowing that your door is always open
And your path is free to walk
That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag
Rolled up and stashed behind your couch
And it's knowing I'm not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
The ink stains that have dried upon some line
That keeps you in the backroads
By the rivers of my memory
That keeps you ever gentle on my mind
It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy
Planted on their columns now that binds me
Or something that somebody said
Because they thought we fit together walking
It's just knowing that the world
Will not be cursing or forgiving
When I walk along some railroad track and find
That you're moving on the backroads
By the rivers of my memory
For hours you're just gentle on my mind
When I dip my cup of soup back
From the gurgling, crackling cauldron
In some train yard
My beard a roughening coal pile
And a dirty hat pulled low across my face
Through cupped hands 'round a tin can
I pretend I hold you to my breast and find
That you're waving from the backroads
By the rivers of my memory
Ever smiling, ever gentle on my mind
