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 a-walking says ``I`m going to call, call all my children home.`` Hope everybody`s dancing to their own drum this fine morning --- the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town. Old man, he`s calling for his supper. Calling for his whisky. Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah --- calling all his children round. Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming. 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 winter`s morning? Maybe it`s always time for another Christmas song. Old man he`s asleep now. Got appointments to keep now. Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving --- proving that the blood is strong.