It's (C) knowin' that your (Em) door is always (C) open,

And your (Em) path is free to (Dm) walk,

That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag

Rolled up and (G) stashed behind your (C) couch. (Em) (C) (Em)

And it's (C) knowing I'm not (Em) shackled

By (C) forgotten words and (Em) bonds,

And the (C) ink stains that have (Em) dried upon some (Dm) line,

That keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory,

That keeps you ever (G) gentle on my (C) mind. (Em) (C) (Em)

It's not (C) clinging to the (Em) rocks and ivy

(C) planted on their (Em) columns now that (Dm)binds me,

or something that somebody said

because they thought we (G) fit together (C) walkin'.(Em) (C) (Em)

It's just (C) knowing that the (Em) world will not be (C) cursing or (Em) forgiving,

when I (C) walk 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 (G) gentle on my (C) mind.(Em) (C) (Em)

Well, I (C) dip my cup of (Em) soup, back from the (C)gurgling cracklin'(Em) cauldron in some (Dm) train yard,

my beard a roughning coal pile

And a dirty hat pulled (G) low across my (C) face.(Em) (C) (Em)

Through (C) cupped hands 'round a (Em) tin can

I (C) pretend I hold you (Em) to my breast and (Dm) find,

that you're waving from the backroads by the rivers of my memory,

ever smilin' ever (G) gentle on my (C) mind. (Em) (C)