Covered by many many singers - dont really care who sings it, just love the song (although at a push Dean Martin

)
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 upon some line,
That keeps you in the back roads by the rivers of memory,
and keeps you ever gentle on my mind.
It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy
planted on their columns now that bind 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 back roads
by the rivers of my memory
and for hours you're just gentle on my mind.
Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines
and the junkyards and the highways come between us,
And some other woman's crying to her mother
'cause she turned and I was gone.
I still might run in silence, tears of joy might stain my face
and summer sun might burn me till I'm blind,
But not to where I cannot see
you walkin' on the back roads,
by the rivers flowing gentle on my mind.
I dip my cup of soup back from the gurglin',
crackling cauldron in some train yard;
My beard a roughn'ning coal pile
and a dirty hat pulled low across my face;
Through cupped hands 'round a tin can,
I pretend I hold you to my breast and find,
That you're wavin' from the back roads
by the rivers of my memory
ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind...