| Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah |
| The gypsy flies from coast to coast |
| Knowing many, loving none |
| Bearing sorrow, having fun |
| But, back home he’ll always run |
| To sweet Melissa |
| Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same |
| No one knows the gypsy’s name |
| And no one hears his lonely sighs |
| There are no blankets where he lies |
| In deepest dreams the gypsy flies |
| With sweet Melissa |
| Again, the mornings come |
| Again, he’s on the run |
| A sunbeam’s shinin' through his hair |
| Fear not to have a care |
| Pick up your gear, gypsy roll on |
| Roll on |
| Crossroads, will you ever let him go? |
| Lord, Lord, Lord |
| Or will you hide the dead man’s ghost? |
| Or will he lie, beneath the clay? |
| Or will his spirit float away? |
| But, I know he won’t stay |
| Without Melissa |
| Yes, I know he won’t stay, yeah |
| Without Melissa |