In the wintertime,
under brooding skies,
you're packing up your things
in the middle of the night
and you're all alone
as you stand in the line
and you're on your knees,
your knees,
your knees,
you're begging for a sign
Can
you spare a franc or a glass of wine?
There are holes in your jacket,
there are rings around your eyes,
and the days are long,
they
stretch endlessly My kingdom for a crust of bread,
I'll somewhere
get warm to sleep
Oh!
In the wintertime,
under brooding skies,
you're packing up your things in the middle of the
night I know things are bad,
but they could be worse
And your pockets might be empty,
but your heart's ready to burst
Yeah!
