The Vicar Of Barrington Mill

He buttons the front of his fine winter coat
And climbs up the hill
Climbs up the hill
Ascends to the pulpit and clears out his throat
The Vicar of Barrington Mill

Here's where he watched the parading
The fine and the bold and the true
Here's where he sent a young maiden
To give a white feather to you

It sold revelations, twenty one [?]
Bitter and shrill
Bitter and shrill
They all turn and look as you stare at your feet
The Vicar of Barrington Mill

Here's where he'll dance on the treetops
Here's where he'll butter his bread
Here's where he'll stare at the raindrops
As the shells pour down on your head

And when the war's done
And his heroes lie dead. Silent and still
Silent and still
He'll toddle off safely and die in his bed
The Vicar of Barrington Mill