| Hope everybody’s ringing on their own bell this fine morning
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| Hope everyone’s connected to that long distance phone
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| Old man he’s a mountain
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| Old man he’s an island
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| Old man he’s a-waking says
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| «I'm going to call, call all my children home»
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| Hope everybody’s dancing to their own drum this fine morning
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| The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town
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| Old man he’s calling for his supper
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| Calling for his whisky
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| Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah
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| Calling, calling all his children round
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| Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming
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| Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory
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| Everyone is from somewhere
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| Even if you’ve never been there
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| So take a minute to remember the part of you
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| That might be the old man calling me
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| How many wars you fighting out there this winter’s morning?
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| Maybe there’s always time for another christmas song
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| Old man is asleep now
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| Got appointments to keep now
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| Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving
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| Proving that the blood is strong |