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