| Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool
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| Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school
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| From Belgium and to Flanders, Germany to here
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| I fought for King and country I love dear
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| Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung
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| The frozen fields of France where still no Christmas songs were sung
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| Our families back in England were toasting us that day
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| There brave and glorious lads so far away
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| I was lying with my mess mates on the cold and rocky ground
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| When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
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| Says I now listen up me boys, each soldier strained to hear
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| As one young German voice sang out so clear
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| He’s singing bloody well you know, my partner says to me
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| Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
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| The cannons rested silent and the gas cloud rolled no more
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| As Christmas brought us respite from the war
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| As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
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| God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen struck up some lads from Kent
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| The next thing sang was Stille Nach tis Silent Night says I |
| And in two tongues one song filled up that sky
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| There’s someone coming towards us now the front line sentry said
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| All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side
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| His truce flag like a Christmas Star shone on the plane so bright
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| As he bravely trudged unarmed into the night
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| Then one by one on either side, walked in to No Mans Land
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| With neither gun nor bayonet, we met there hand to hand
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| We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
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| And in a flare lit football game we gave them hell
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| We traded chocolates, cigarettes and photographs from home
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| These sons and father far away from families of their own
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| Ton Sanders played the squeeze box and they had a violin
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| This curious and unlikely band of men
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| Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
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| With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
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| But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
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| Whose family have I fixed within my sights
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| Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung |
| The frozen fields of France were warmed, the songs of peace were sung
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| For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work of war
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| Had been crumbled and were gone forever more
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| Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, from Liverpool I dwell
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| Each Christmas comes since World War I have learned its lesson well
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| For the one who calls the shots won’t be among the dead and lame
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| And on each end of the rifle we’re the same |