I can't believe that it's so cold And there ain't been no snow. The sound of music it comes to me From every place I go. Sunday morning, there's no one in church But the clergy's chosen man And he is fine I won't worry about him Got the book in his hand.
There's a bitter east wind and the fields are swaying The crows are round their nests. I wonder what he's in there saying To all those souls at rest. I see the path which led to the door And the clergy's chosen man Bushes and briars, you and I Where do we stand?
I wonder if he knows I'm here Watching the briars grow. And all these people beneath my shoes, I wonder if they know. There was a time when every last one Knew a clergy's chosen man Where are they now? Thistles and thorns Among the sand.
I can't believe that it's so cold And there ain't been no snow. The sound of music it comes to me From every place I go. Sunday morning, there's no one in church But the clergy's chosen man Bushes and briars, thistles and thorns Upon the land.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
