She lived all her life east of Knoxville
she knows her name in Cherokee
she don't think too much
of the 20th century, and she says,
"the Tennessee River waits for me."
she recalls the day he went to Nashville
oh the trail of the Carter Family
with his black guitar, harmonic,
and sweet blue melody, he said,
"will the Tennessee River wait for me?"
she watched his son grow dark and hansome
she watched his grandson grow up too
she read the postcards that he'd send
from Tulsa and Bergoo, and she'd say,
"the Tennessee River waits for you."
he had a hit recording in '57
a song about a love that never dies
she'd hear it on border stations
at night when she closed her eyes, and she'd dream
that the Tennessee River carried stars in the skies.
she read it in the Sunday paper
the song was over, the high livin' was through
he stole that song from Texas Red
and only changed a word or two, but she said,
"the Tennessee River waits for you."
there were no more songs and no more letters
just a drifter who'd lost his deal
he held a photograph of her
by the oldest willow tree and a note:
"the Tennessee River watches over me."
he died on a lonesome night in Phoenix
in a stranger's company
and just before he breathed his last
and let his soul go free, he said,
"the Tennessee River does not wait for me."
she walks down to the river in the moonlight
she wears her wedding jewelery
she steps into the current
she feels so young and free, and she says
"Tennessee River don't you stop for me."