On a cold and bitter night,
A day when to celebrate a child's birth, children work,
A man lies dead in the snow.
Frozen by harsh reality,
This man lies dead, his open eyes staring at a polluted sky,
Where a tower blinks red, unlike his reindeer which men had for their flesh,
How can such a man exist, when what he stood for was compassion,
and now only avarice runs rampant today.
Above him, in a ratty apartment,
the TV blares advertisements made for holidays.
Above him, the people believe only in gifting to receive gifts,
Money can't buy you love,
Yet it seems so untrue when the cold wind kicks in.
This man lies dead on cold snow,
and no one lifts a finger to save him.
No cookies and milk wait for him near a warm hearth.
Santa is dead, the Grinch has won.