The Christmas cards and greetings are arriving
Across the shifty sands to the war
By the time I get to read them, she'll be rising
To a fifty, fifty chance and nothing more

Through the sleet and drizzle
You can hear the sounds of soldiers
The Kalashnikov and splutter
On a sunny day

From the east of middle
To the north and south of nowhere
People earn their bread and butter
In some funny ways

In the corridors of power
Where the talks are in full swing
If you can't say it with flowers
Then don't say anything

I want to see my children
Grow up into healthy human beings
I want to see them walking, running
Playing, laughing and singing

In the corridors of power
Where the talks are in full swing
If you can't say it with flowers
Then don't say anything

I'm just outside the home of Christmas, now
And I'm dying, all across the shifty sand there's blood and guts
By the time I get to Jesus, she'll still be crying
I guess a fifty, fifty chance wasn't good enough