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    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.

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