I'm coming home home,
To the things I love and they belong to me-e,
I'm coming home.
To the bosom of a cherished hamlet,
To smoke clouds rising in the sky.
To the music of a rushing stream,
To the sound of a breathless sigh:
To comrades long ago forgotten,
To memories in a glass of wine;
Roasting coffee beans and baking bread,
Footsteps on the sands of time:
To churchbells on a winterís morning,
To trees stripped bare of autumn leaves.
To the signs of early spring returning
To the sparrows nesting in the eaves:
To the happy sounds of song and laughter,
To the company of so many trusted friends.
To the early frosts and misty evenings,
To the place where every journey ends.