Another Christmas Song

Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell, this fine morning, yeah 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 a waking 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 whiskey Calling for his sons and daughters, 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're fighting out there, this winters morning? Yeah Maybe it's always time for another Christmas song Old man he's asleep now but he's got appointments to keep now Dreaming of his sons and his daughters, yeah Proving, proving that the blood is strong