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Oh, Benny Mart, now |
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It's knowin' 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 sleepin' bag |
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Rolled up and stashed behind your couch |
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And it's knowin' I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds |
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And the ink stains that have dried upon some lines |
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That keeps you in the back roads, by the rivers of my memory |
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And keeps you ever gentle on my mind |
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Oh, Sam, Sammy Bush |
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It's not clingin' to the rocks and ivy |
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Planted on their columns now that binds me |
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Or somethin' that somebody said |
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Because they thought we fit together walkin' |
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It's just knowin' that the world will not be cursin' or forgivin' |
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When I walk along some railroad track and find |
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That you're wavin' from the back roads, by the rivers of my memory |
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For hours you're just gentle on my mind |
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Although the wheat fields and the curled twines |
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And the junkyards and the highways come between us |
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And some other woman cryin' to her mother |
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'Cause she turned and I was gone |
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I still might run in silence, tears of joy might stain my face |
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And the summer sun might burn me till I'm blind |
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But not to where I cannot see you walkin' on the back roads |
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By the rivers flowin' gentle on my mind |
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Take Robin and Buddy Ellins |
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I dip my cup of soup back from the gurglin' |
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Cracklin' cauldron in some train yard |
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My beard a roughenin' coal pile |
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And a dirty hat pulled low across my face |
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Through cupped hands 'round a tin can |
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I pretend to hold you to my breast and find |
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That you're wavin' from the back roads, by the rivers of my memory |
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Ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind |