From the late days of summer
When Western winds blow dry
To the bright light of winter
And the spring river rise
Mountains to the prairies
The places I have roamed
Only small glories
Thinking about my home
Thinking bout my home
Sometimes I'm like a gypsy
With a wandering soul
Some say I must be crazy
No place to call my own
No matter where I come from
I know where I belong
With all my angels
Friends I call home
Thinking bout my home
la da da la da da da la da da da
Thinking bout my home
la da da da la da da da
Thinking bout my home
From the late days of summer
When Western winds blow dry
To the bright light of winter
And the spring river rise