Wishing for Home at Christmas

The desert sky is velvet blue, but it don't sparkle like the frosty air.

No chimney smoke, no sleigh ride tunes, just quiet stars and empty flare.

I sip my tea beneath the palms, while back at home the fires

glow. I hear their laughter in my dreams, it's the only

kind of snow. I'm wishing I was home for Christmas, where the kids

are wrapped up tight, where dinner smell fills a house with heaven,

and the tree glows soft at night. I've got the sun,

I've got the sand, but I'd trade it all to hold their hands.