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When winter's shadowy fingers first pursue you down the street |
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And your boots no longer lie about the cold around your feet |
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Do you spare a thought for summer, whose passage is complete |
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Whose memories lie in ruins and whose ruins lie in heat |
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When winter comes howling in |
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When the wind is singing strangely, blowing music through your head |
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And your rain-splattered windows make you decide to stay in bed |
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Do you spare a thought for the homeless tramp who wishes he was dead |
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Or do you pull the bedclothes higher, dream of summertime instead? |
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When winter comes howling in |
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The creeping cold has fingers that access with permission |
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And mystic crystal snowdrops only aggravate the condition |
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Do you spare a thought for the gypsy with no secure position |
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Who's turned and spurned by village and town t the magistrate's decision? |
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When winter comes howling in |
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When the turkey's in the oven, and the Christmas presents are bought |
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And Santa's in his module, he's an American astronaut |
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Do you spare a thought for Jesus, who had nothing but his thoughts |
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Who got busted just for talking, and befriending the wrong sorts? |
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When winter comes howling in |
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When winter comes howling in |