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-waking 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 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.
