Gentle On My Mind
By Glen Campbell
Tabbed By Larry Mofle
rmofle at satx.rr.com
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It's knowing that your door is always open
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and your path is free to walk
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that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag
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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 if on some line,
that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my mem'ry
that keeps you ever gentle on my mind
It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy
planted on the columns now that binds me,
or something that somebody said
because they thought we fit together walking.
It's just knowing that the world will not be cursing
or forgiving when I walk along some railroad track
and find that you are moving on the backroads
by the rivers of my mem'ry
and for hours you're just gentle on my mind.
Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines and junkyards and the
highways come between us and some other woman crying to her mother
cause she turned and I was gone. I still run in silence, tears of joy
might stain my face and summer sun might burn me til I'm blind
but not to where I cannot see you walkin' on the backroads by the
rivers flowing gentle on my mid.
I dip my cup of soup back from the gurglin' craklin caldron in some
train yard. My beard a rough'ning coal pile and a dirty hat pulled
low across my face. Through cupped hand round a tin can I pretend to
hold you to my breast and find that you're waving from the backroads
by the rivers of my memory every smilin every gentle on my mind.