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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 Home 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 Home Thinking bout my home La da da la da da da la da da da Home Home 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