Summer is nearly over now,
Sun's a lot less of warm.
Trees have started loosing all the leaves
With the brown lore.
You say you gonna travel back home.
All the same we went before.
Born a gypsy, yeah,
You always set the night aflame.
As the days grew older
You won the love of all my friends.
Oh, but that's all right,
Gonna sail away again.
Lying low on Henry Lane.
The summer is nearly over the hill,
Sun's a lot less of warm.
Trees have started loosing all the leaves
Declined of all.
And you gonna travel the way unknown.