Bushes And Briars

I can't believe that it's so coldAnd there ain't been no snow.The sound of music it comes to meFrom every place I go.Sunday morning, there's no one in churchBut the clergy's chosen manAnd he is fine I won't worry about himGot the book in his hand.There's a bitter east wind and the fields are swayingThe crows are round their nests.I wonder what he's in there sayingTo all those souls at rest.I see the path which led to the doorAnd the clergy's chosen manBushes and briars, you and IWhere do we stand?I wonder if he knows I'm hereWatching the briars grow.And all these people beneath my shoes,I wonder if they know.There was a time when every last oneKnew a clergy's chosen manWhere are they now? Thistles and thornsAmong the sand.I can't believe that it's so coldAnd there ain't been no snow.The sound of music it comes to meFrom every place I go.Sunday morning, there's no one in churchBut the clergy's chosen manBushes and briars, thistles and thornsUpon the land.