Sleeping Bag Rolled Up And Stashed Behind Your Couch

And it s knowing i m not shackled.

Sleeping bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch.

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. Lyrics to gentle on my mind by dean martin. By forgotten words and bonds. 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 are dried upon some line that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory.

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 backroads by the rivers of my memory. 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. And your path is free to walk. 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.

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 are dried upon some line that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory. Rolled up and stashed behind your couch. That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag. And the ink stains that have dried upon some line.

It s knowing that your door is always open. By the rivers of my mem ry. It s knowin that your door is always open and you path is free to walk that makes me tend to keep my sleeping bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch it s knowin i m not shackled by forgotten words and bonds and the heat stains that have dried up on some lovin that keeps you in the back roads by the rivers of my memory it keeps you ever. That keeps you in the back roads.