Leaves are falling and turning in showers of gold
As the postman climbs up our long hill
And there's sympathy written all over his face
As he hands me a couple more bills

There's a lovely green nook by a clear-running stream
It was my place when I was quite small
And it's creatures and sounds could soothe my worst pains
But today they don't ease me at all

In my grandfather's shed there are hundreds of tools
I know them by feel and by name
And like parts of my body they've patched this old place
When I move them they won't be the same

Now I wander around touching each blessed thing
The chimney the tables the trees
And my memories swirl 'round me like birds on the wing
When I leave here oh who will I be