It was the night before Christmas he lived all alone
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live

I looked all about a strange sight I did see
No tinsel no presents not even a tree
no stocking by the mantle just boots filled with sand
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands

with medals and badges awards of all kinds
a sober thought came through my mind
for this house was different it was dark and dreary
I found the home of a soldier once I could see clearly

the soldier lay sleeping silent alone
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home
the face was so gentle the room in such disorder
not how I pictured a lone British soldier

was this the hero of whom I’d just read
curled up on a poncho the floor for a bed
I realised the families that I saw this night
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight

so round the world the children would play
and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
they all enjoy freedom each month of the year
because of the soldiers like the one lying here

I couldn’t help wonder how many alone
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home
the very thought brought a tear to my eye
I dropped to my knees and started to cry

the soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice
‘Santa don’t cry this life is my choice
I fight for freedom I don’t ask for more
my life is my god, my country. My corps’

the soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep
I couldn’t control it I continued to weep
I kept watch for hours so silent and still
and we both sat and shivered from the cold nights chill

I didn’t want to leave on that cold dark night
this guardian of honour so willing to fight

Then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure
whispered ‘carry on Santa its Christmas day all is secure’
one look at my watch and I knew he was right
‘merry Christmas my friend and to all a good night’