sunday and church

I'd never been to church before, I'd never wanted to; But came a Sunday when I found that I had, nowt to do. I wandered round the town a bit, but, boy, our town is dead, I thought I would have been much better back at home, in bed; But stopped outside St. Peter's church - it really looked a ruin; "It can't do much for folks!" I thought, cause I couldn't see any queuin' I wondered what went on inside, decided that I'd see; I came, I saw, I conquered all my curiosity. It fair gave me the bloomin' creeps before I reached the door, 'Cause I had to walk on gravestones that they'd used to make the floor. Inside I saw these moth-chewed banners drooping near a tomb, But not much else until I grew accustomed to the gloom. I found my way quite easily to where I had to sit, Then lost my way in't prayer book, couldn't make much sense of it. I listened to the others praying, and thought it very odd, That someone had to write a script before they talked to God.