A guitar case with no music in, owned by
the old woman who can't sing.
He sweeps the comb through her straggly hair,
What no money and nobody cares.
He wipes the burning tears from her pretty eyes.
Listens to her worried sighs.
She's concerned about a lack of dosh.
Christmas is coming, oh golly gosh.
He, is the fellow with the overgrown belly and the beard of white,
Waiting for Christmas eve.
Bring on that night.
His name by now you must be aware is really Santa Claus,
This year he's really scared.
With no toys for his haversack.
Due to lack of funds.

A sleigh in need of service.
Reindeer nibbling rotten carrots.
**** Horrible.
And the sprouts are full of wind.
His workshop staff redundant,
More silent, than a winter's night upon a turkey farm.

Outside,the local families gather beneath last year's yule .
This year, everybody's skint
Lit the bonfire with stones of flint.
Perfect purpose,
Free fuel.
Carols echo noisily outside the house next door.
"Disappear" she said in a very loud voice.
Wait a few weeks before you rejoice.
It's way too early,
"Go", she said.
"Please, please, I beg of you no more.
As yet, at least.
It's much too soon.
Wait until December, to have a cheery feast.
I guess it's your choice."
(c)LIVVI