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.