It's just 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 back roads 

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 bind me,

Or something that somebody said 

Because they thought we fit together walkin'.

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 back roads 

By the rivers of my memory and for hours 

You're just gentle on my mind.



Though the wheat fields and the clotheslines 

And the junkyards and the highways come between us,

And some other woman's crying to her mother 

'Cause she turned and I was gone.

I still might run in silence, tears of joy 

Might stain my face and the summer sun 

Might burn me till I'm blind,

But not to where I cannot see you 

Walkin' on the back roads, by the rivers 

Flowing gentle on my mind.



I dip my cup of soup back from a the 

Gurglin', crackling cauldron in some train yard;

My beard a roughn'ning coal pile and a dirty hat 

Pulled low across my face;

Through cupped hands 'round a tin can, 

I pretend to hold you to my breast and find,

That you're wavin' from the back roads 

By the rivers of my memory and for hours 

You're just gentle on my mind...