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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