I can't believe that it's so coldnAnd there ain't been no snow.nThe sound of music it comes to menFrom every place I go.nSunday morning, there's no one in church,nBut the clergy's chosen mannAnd he is fine I won't worry about him.nGot the book in his hand.nnOh, there's a bitter east wind, and the fields are swaying,nThe crows are round their nests.nI wonder what he's in there sayingnTo all those souls at rest.nI see the path which lead to the door,nAnd the clergy's chosen man.nBushes and briarsnYou and I,nWhere do we stand?nnI wonder if he knows I'm here,nWatching the briars grow.nAnd all these people beneath my shoes,nI wonder if they know.nThere was a time when every last one,nKnew a clergy's chosen man.nWhere are they now?nThistles and thorns,nAmong the sand.nnI can't believe that it's so coldnAnd there ain't been no snow.nThe sound of music it comes to menFrom every place I go.nSunday morning, there's no one in church,nBut the clergy's chosen mannBushes and briars,nThistles and thornsnUpon the land. n