Song for a Season

"Where've you been to? Where've you been to?" Said the cold, cold covered ground Nature's growin' without my knowin' I'd like to be somebody else I'd like to be somebody else And still, my love for you, it grows And still, my love for you, it grows Those holy prophets with empty pockets Only visible to you Their silver bow strings play songs of old kings And they play in the light of the moon Hear them play in the light of the moon And still, my love for you, it grows And still, my love for you, it grows Songs are chosen and often broken Try to put it together again But winter's lonely, and someone told me That the fame's gonna get to your head That the fame's gonna get to your head And still, my love for you, it grows And still, my love for you, it grows