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Gather round the fire dears
hold your hands quite close
Let me fill your ears dears
with tales that are verbose.
Winter's drawing near dears
nights are growing cold.
It's surely not the years dears
I can't be growing old.

Gather round the fire dears
it's deep within my soul.
Let me soothe your fears dears
my passion is the coal.
I see your spirits rising
to fill the void so bold.
It's surely not the years dears
All souls are really old.

Gather round the fire dears
the time has finally come.
Let me taste your tears dears
and the wisdom they come from.
Salty, sour or bitter
your mark within the fold.
It's surely not the years dear.
Your turn has come.

I'm old.