Michael Fitzsimons

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It was Christmas Eve, snowing hard, with a 100 miles to go
Keep off the roads, stay inside, said the DJ, on the radio
The snow kept on, while the wipers done, the best job that they could
Raising the heat in his 4X4, he told himself I'm good

He'd say it made no sense to believe in, fairy tales
But he'll put that red costume on tonight, without fail
He knows he must get home , before the morning comes
Never looking back, just making tracks
Making tracks in the snow

He saw the drift across the bend, too late to stop the slide
911 said stay put, no way we can reach you now
Blinding lights of a pickup truck, his arms raised high and wide
The old man said, son climb aboard, Its looking bad outside


Christmas lights lit up the house, wood smoke in the air
Said 'don't know what I'd've done, without your help back there'
The old man smiled, said 'son they're waiting inside'
But he stood and stared into the night, as he waved that truck goodbye

He'd say it made no sense to believe in, fairy tales
But he'll put that red costume on tonight, without fail
He knows he must get home , before the morning comes
Never looking back, just making tracks
Making tracks in the snow

As the taillights faded in the dark, he looked down at the road
There's was something wrong, as he tried to fight the cold
Where that truck came from and where it had gone, there should be more to show
There was no sign of anything, There were no tracks, in the snow

He'd say it made no sense to believe in, fairy tales
But he'll put that red costume on tonight, without fail
He knows he must get home , before the morning comes
Never looking back, just making tracks
Making tracks in the snow