The Wives Of The Saints 歌词

Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them I've got a question for the wives of the saints Do they ever run low on words of praise? Do they ever long for simpler days? And does cold rain blow all around them? The wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them I've got a question for the wives of the saints Do they ever find it hard to communicate? Do they ever find their poor hearts filled with hate? Does the cold rain blow all around them? The wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them Here's another question for the wives of the saints Pray, tell me, is it like the good book said? That "the saints shall be joyful in their beds"? Does the cold rain blow all around them? The wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them One last question for the wives of the saints Do they ever try to set out on their own? Do they ever want to leave their happy home? Does the cold rain blow all around them? The wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them The wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own Oh, the wives of the saints have troubles of their own And the cold rain blows all around them