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It's knowin' that your door is always open
|
And your path is free to walk
|
That makes me tend to leave my sleepin' bag
|
Rolled up and stashed behind your couch
|
And it's knowin' 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 clingin' 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 movin' 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 clothes lines
|
And the junkyards and the highways come between us
|
And some other woman's cryin' 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 flowin' gentle on my mind
|
|
I dip my cup of soup back from a gurglin' cracklin' cauldron
|
In some train yard
|
My beard a rustlin' 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 waitin' from the back roads
|
By the rivers of my memory
|
Ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind
|
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Gentle On My Mind
|
| Glen Campbell |
