Dean Martin Follow

It's knowing 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 up on 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 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 walking

It's just knowing that the world will not be cursing or forgiving when I walk along some railroad track to find. 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