It's k nowing that your door is always o pen
and your p ath is free to w alk
that makes me tend to l eave my sleeping bag
rolled up and s tashed behind your c ouch.
And it's k nowing I'm not shackled
by forgo tten words and bonds
and the i nk stains that have dried if on some l ine
that keeps you in the ba ckroads
by the rivers of my mem'ry
that ke eps you ever ge ntle on my m ind.
It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy
planted on the 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 are moving on the backroads
by the rivers of my mem'ry
and for hours you're just gentle on my mind.