Christmas without you feels wrong.
I don't know why, it's only one day
Among three hundred and sixty-four others.
It's not very different from those others.
Sure, there's eggnog and bows
And fireplaces and singing
And beef roasts and hams
And traditions a mile high.
You've never even been there before.
I've never seen how you fit in
With the bows and the ham
But I'd imagine you'd fit very splendidly
And it may seem strange,
But you're missing from somewhere
You've never been.
And all I want is you here beside me,
On this day I've never spent with you.
I want it badly.
But I shouldn't be so greedy.
Each day I spend with you is already Christmas.
Even in July.