Forget Newcy Brown, The Toon Army, Gazza. Here's one from Newcastle's finest export, Lindisfarne.
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 is complete
Whose memories lie in ruins and whose ruins lie in heat
When winter..... comes howling in.
When the wind is singing strangely, blowing music thru 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 winter..... comes 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 winter..... comes 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 gut busted just for talking, and befriending the wrong sorts?
When winter..... comes howling in.
When winter..... comes howling in.