Let me tell you all a little story of the things I’ve found,
Hanging out and drinking with my friends in the cathedral grounds,
And later dodging drunks as we dance along Jewry street,
As we wander uptown to the Railway, our friends to meet.

There's something about coming back, to your hometown again
The place where you grew up and where you found your firmest friends.
And though none of them still live here, and I’ve got nowhere to go,
I’m a Wessex boy, and when I’m here I’m home.

Let me tell you all a little story of the things I’ve lost,
Huddling for warmth on the top step of the Buttercross,
Or sitting on the benches by the bridges at the riverside,
Counting down the hours for the buses because I missed my ride.

There's something about coming back, to your hometown again
The place where you grew up and where you found your firmest friends.
And though none of them still live here, and I’ve got nowhere to go,
I’m a Wessex boy, a Wessex boy, and when I’m here I’m home

And one day I will hear this song, anonymous and sweet,
Ringing our from a busker’s guitar on the ancient city streets.
I’ll pause a while and smile before I continue on alone,
And somebody else will sing the words, and I’ll feel like I’m home.

There’s something about hometowns that you never can escape,
The triumphs and the tragedies, the tawdry little fates,
The welling of nostalgia, the feeling kind of strange,
Because despite all of the little changes, the place still feels the same.
But then there’s something about coming back to your hometown again,
The place where you grew up and where you found your firmest friends.
And though none of them still live here, and I’ve got nowhere to go,
I’m a Wessex boy
I’m a Wessex boy, and when I’m here I’m home.