It's know-ing that your door is al-ways o-pen 
and your path is free to walk,
That makes me tend to leave my sleep-ing bag rolled up 
and stashed be-hind your couch,
And it's know-ing I'm not shack-led by for - got - ten words and bonds
And the ink stains that have dried up-on some line,
That keeps you in the back-roads by the ri-vers of my mem-'ry
that keeps you ev-er  Gen-tle   On My Mind.

I'ts not cling-ing to the rocks and ivy planted 
on their columns now that binds me
Or some-thing that some-body said be-cause they 
thought we fit together walk-in'.
It's just know-ing that the world will not be curs-ing or for-giving 
when I walk a-long Some railroad track and find
That you're mov-ing on the back-roads by the ri-vers of my mem-'ry
and for hours You're just gen-tle on my mind.

Through the wheat fields and the clothes lines
and the junk-yards and the high-ways Come be-tween us
And some other woman cry-ing to her mother 'cause she turned and I was gone.
I still run in si-lence, tears of joy might stain my face
and sum-mer sun might Burn me 'til I'm blind
But not to where I can-not see you walk'in' on the backroads
by the rivers flow-ing Gen-tle on my mind.

I dip my cup of soup back from the gurg-lin' crack-lin'
caldron in some train yard
My beard a rough-ning coal pile and a dirty hat pulled low across my face.
Through cupped hands 'round a tin can
I pre-tend I hold you to my breast and find
That you're wav-ing from the back-roads by the rivers of my memory
ever smil-in' Ever gentle on my mind.

Circa 1967
Words and Music by John Hartford