And he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band
And the laughter from a distant caravan
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand
Fading through the door into summer
With his travelogues of maybe-next-year places
As a trade-in for a name upon the door
And he pays for it with years he cannot buy back with his tears
When he finds out there’s been no one keeping score
And he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band
And the laughter from a distant caravan
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand
Fading through the door into summer
Yes, he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band
And the laughter from a distant caravan
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand
Fading through the door into summer
Fading through the door into summer
Fading through the door into summer
Fading through the door into summer
Fading through the door into summer