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It's know C in'that your doo Em r is always ope C  n,
and your pa Em th is free to  Dm  walk,
that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag
rolled up and st G ashed behind your c C ouch.  Em        C      Em 
And it's kn C owing I'm not s Em  hackled
by forgotten C  words and b Em  onds,
and the in C k stains that have d Em ried upon some  Dm  line,
that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory,
that keeps you ever gen G tle on my m C ind.  Em       C      Em 
It's not cl C inging to the  Em  rocks and ivy
plan C ted on their  Em columns now that binds Dm  me,
or something that somebody said
because they thought we f G it together  C walkin Em '.     C        Em 
It's just know C ing that the w Em orld will not b C e cursing or f Em  orgiving,
when I wa C lk along some Em  railroad track and Dm  find,
that you're moving on the backroads by the rivers of my memory,
and for hours you're just ge G ntle on my m C ind.  Em        C      Em 
Well I dip my cup of soup back from the gurgling crackling
caldron in some train yard
My beard a roughening coal pile and a dirty hat
pulled low across my face
Cupped hands 'round a tin can
I pretend I hold you to my breast and find
that you're waving from the back roads by the river
of my memory
Ever smiling ever gentle on my mind
Version : 1.0
Dernière modification : 2009-07-28
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