When Winter's shadowy fingers first pursue you down the street
And your boots no longer lie about the cold around your feet
Do you spare a thought for summer whose passage [bad word] 
Whose memories lie [bad word] and [bad word] lie in heat
When [bad word] howling in.

When the wind is singing strangely, blowing music [bad word] your head
and your rain splattered windows make you decide to stay in bed
Do you spare a thought for the homeless tramp who wishes he was dead
Or do you pull the bedclothes higher, dream of summertime instead?
When [bad word] howling in.

The creeping cold has fingers, that access with permission
And mystic crystal snowdrops only aggravate the condition
Do you spare a thought for the gypsy with no secure position
Who's turned and spurned by village and town, at the magistrate's decision?
When [bad word] howling in.

When the turkey's in the oven, and the Christmas presents are bought
And Santa's in his module, he's an American astronaut
Do you spare a thought for Jesus, who had nothing but his thoughts,
Who got busted just for talking, and befriending the wrong sorts?
When [bad word] howling in.
When [bad word] howling in.