| F | C | G | |
| I count the hours | , you co | unt the days togethe | r, |
| F | G | F | ////// | |
| we co | unt the minutes in this passion play | . |
| F | C | G | |
| Walk dusty miles, | and I rid | e that train, |
| F | C | G | F | ////// | |
| on a fi | rst class tick | et, just to be with | you again. |
| (Chorus) |
| D | G | D | G | |
| Picking up tired | feet, | back | from a far horizon, |
| D | G | D | C | |
| Cleaned up and brushed d | own, dresse | d to loo | k the part. |
| D | G | D | G | |
| Fresh from God's garden, | I bring a gi | ft of roses |
| D | G | D | C | |
| to stand in sweet spring | water and press them to your heart. |
| F | C | G | |
| Like the Kipling cat, I | walk al | one, |
| F | C | G | F | |
| never invit | ing trou | ble, never casting | the stone. |
| C | G | |
| But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin | , |
| F | C | G | F | |
| light your guid | ing beacon | to bring this | fisher in. |
| (Chorus) |
| (Chorus) |