annuler
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Marque le tempo à la vitesse que vous souhaitez.
It's knowin'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 backroads 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 binds 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 backroads by the rivers of my memory
and for hours you're just gentle on my mind.
Well I dip my cup of soup back from the gurgling crackling
caldron in some train yard
My beard a roughening coal pile and a dirty hat
pulled low across my face
Cupped hands 'round a tin can
I pretend I hold you to my breast and find
that you're waving from the back roads by the river
of my memory
Ever smiling ever gentle on my mind
