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