[(intro) ]G 

                      G 
1. Well, it's knowing that your door is always open, 
                                          Am 
    and your path is free to walk, 
              D 
    that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag rolled up 
                                               G 
    and stashed behind your couch. 

                    G 
    And it's knowing I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds, 
                                                                              Am 
    and the ink stains that have dried upon some lines, 
              D 
    that keeps you in the back roads by the rivers of my memory, 
                                                            G 
    and keeps you ever gentle on my mind. 

                 G 
2. It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy 
                                                           Am 
    planted on their columns now that bind me, 
          D 
    or something that somebody said because 
                                                  G 
    they thought we fit together walking. 

                    G 
    It's just knowing that the world will not be cursing or forgiven, 
                                                                        Am 
    when I walk along some railroad track and find 
                         D 
    that you're moving on the back roads by the rivers of my memory, 
                                                                   G 
    and for hours you're just gentle on my mind. 

                            G 
3. Though the wheat fields and the coal mines and the junkyards 
                                                  Am 
    and the highways come between us, 
                       D 
    and some other woman's crying to her mother, 
                                                   G 
    'cause she turned and I was gone. 

        G 
    I still might run in silence, tears of joy might stain my face, 
                                                                         Am 
    and the summer sun might burn me till I'm blind, 
            D 
    but not to where I cannot see you walking on the back roads 
                                                            G 
    by the rivers flowing gentle on my mind. 

       G 
4. I dip my cup of soup from some gurgling, crackling cauldron 
                   Am 
    in some train yard, 
             D 
    my beard a roughening coal pile 
                                                               G 
    and a dirty hat pulled low across my face. 

                    G 
    Through cupped hands round a tin can 
                                                                  Am 
    I pretend to hold you to my breast and find 
                        D 
    that you're waving from the back roads by the rivers of my memory, 
                                                         G 
    ever smiling, ever gentle on my mind.