Another Christmas Song

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning

Hope everyone's connected to that long-distance phone

Old man, he's a mountain

Old man, he's an island

Old man, he's awaking, says, "I'm going to call

Call all my children home"

Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning, yeah

The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town

Old man, he's calling for his supper

He's calling for his whisky

Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah

Calling, calling all his children 'round

Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming, yeah

Mist blowing 'round some headland somewhere in your memory

Everyone is from somewhere

Even if you've never been there

So take a minute to remember the part of you

That might be the old man calling me

How many wars you fighting out there this Christmas morning?

Maybe there's always time for another Christmas song

Old man, he's asleep now

He's got appointments to keep now

Dreaming of his sons and daughters

Proving, proving that the blood is strong