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, too, but
old man--he's a-waking, saying
"i'm gonna 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
calling
calling all his children 'round

sharp ears are tuned to the carolers warming
mist blowing 'round some headlights
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 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