When the golden sun is setting and your mind from care is free,
when of others you are thinking,
when you sometimes think of me,
as I rode out from my old hometown I saw your waving hand,
sure I moved out to the country,
I knew you'd understand it,
but don't forget just how we played upon that old oak tree,
and I won't forget those words you wrote in my book of memories.
And the golden sun is setting and your mind from care is free,
when of others you are thinking,
when you sometimes think of me.
Now your home's in those city lights and mine's on the country farm,
I've worked,
I've spent,
I've had a bit,
you'd never lose your charm,
I think each night made the stars so bright just how it used to be,
and the tender sound of your words
come around as you spoke them tenderly.
When the golden sun is setting and your mind from care is free,
when of others you are thinking,
when you sometimes think of me.
Now I'm heading home at the ears of
Rome with my horse and old guitar,
I'll sell that horse and settle down by a house in Modica,
will you be my wife till the end of life or better off for west,
then you can just whisper in my ear that tender little vest.
When the golden sun is setting and your mind from care is free,
when of others you are thinking,
when you sometimes think of me.