Painted lantern circus with the wagon swinging slowly
On a cold October morning, on a day that should be holy
Winding through the forest as the sun is just a-breaking
And I am only seven, and a gypsy in the making
Winds are blowing through me and the canvas wraps is tearing
And the folks is talking low now 'cause they don't want me to hear them
An uncle says there's trouble with the bulls along the border
And I'm a-wondering why and a-wishing I were older
Many years ago it seems and many summers ending
The wagon wheels is rusted and the axle's ears a bending
And grandma's bones is bleaching and our hearts is still a-dying
But I am a gypsy boy and there ain't no time for crying
Now it's getting colder and the air is growing ugly
And the wolves is getting bolder and there ain't no sun above me
And I think it's time to move now but I don't know where we're going
And I know it won't be long now before it starts a-snowing
Baby's crying softly as the women are a-sighing
And somewhere in the wagon there's a soul that must be dying
'Cause the paper's hanging black from the window of each lorry
And we'll likely camp at sunset so as the body can be buried
So the carts will rumble though there ain't no road to travel
And I listen to the grinding of the wooden wheels unravel
And the sad songs and the old songs will warm and will hold me
'Til me hidden flesh goes weary and the arms of sleep unfold me
For I am a gypsy boy and my home is where you'll find me
For I am a gypsy boy and my home is where you'll find me