It's know in'that your doo r is always ope n,
and your pa th is free to walk,
that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag
rolled up and st ashed behind your c ouch.
And it's kn owing I'm not s hackled
by forgotten words and b onds,
and the in k stains that have d ried upon some line,
that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory,
that keeps you ever gen tle on my m ind.
It's not cl inging to the rocks and ivy
plan ted on their columns now that binds me,
or something that somebody said
because they thought we f it together walkin '.
It's just know ing that the w orld will not b e cursing or f orgiving,
when I wa lk along some railroad track and find,
that you're moving on the backroads by the rivers of my memory,
and for hours you're just ge ntle on my m ind.
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