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 [bad word]  [bad word] club11593629]
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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
And the ink stains that have dried upon some line,
That keeps you in the backroads 
By the rivers of my mem'ry,
It keeps you ever gentle o-on my mind.

It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy
Planted on their columns now that bind 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 mem'ry
And for hours you just gentle on my mind.

Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines
And the junkyards and the [bad word] between us
And some other woman's crying to her mother
'Cause she turned and I was gone
I still [bad word] in silence,
Tears of joy might stain my face
And the summer sun might burn me 'til I'm blind
But not to where I cannot see 
You walkin' on the backroads
By the rivers flowing gentle on my mind.

I dip my cup of soup back from the gurglin'
Cracklin' caldron in some train yard,
My beard a roughning coal pile and
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 waiting from the backroads
By the rivers of my mem'ries
Ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind.

(Fade out)