When I was a boy, the moon was a pearl the sun a yellow gold.
But when I was a man, the wind blew cold the hills were upside down.
But now that I have gone from here there's no place I'd rather be
than to float my chances on the tide Back in the good old world.
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On October's last I'll fly back home rolling down winding way.
Scare crows are all dressed in rags out at the edge of the field I lay
and all I've got's a pocket full of flowers on my grave.
Oh but summer is gone I remember it best
Back in the good old world.
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