Pagan rituals to compliment the season,
to bring about the solistice to give us a reason.
Standing tall, majestic, gift to the royalty of the UK.
In the rooms they now stand, or in squares enshrined
Firs sparkle with the many toys, baubles and decor,
mistletoe catch a pair in lover embrace.
It began in stable or so many say?
Uniting humanity under one cause.
A baby boy not a shock
it hard to believe it led to so much.
One day where the world just sleeps.
Where a war ended and celebration struck,
football and rations a cause we can all share.
Jaded General said fuck it all.
Igniting hatred once more.
Time that happens once a year,
it all so precious all crystal clear,
friends and family all cheer
anger sleeps for this day.
Truthly... it's no more a time that bring together,
marriages fail, suicides soar and argument brew,
all in the season of joy and cheer?
Carol sprout forth from various gizmos,
'Feed the World' and 'War is Over' guilting us for
sec, a minute in which to think. Then gone in a flash
goosestepping to the beat of happiness and cheer.
Issued ballads over the radio
joyous songs to make it clear.
'Season cheer is here'
bring forth the beer.
Mr and Mrs Brat tired and worn,
screams of indignant rage
'I didn't want that.'
Straddling the bottle of his own vice,
a sell out to kid and families alike.
bought and sold to sell and nothing more
Santa Clause is an advert.
Poor Saint Nick in his bed,
no one comes to his dying dreams,
forgotten by those he loved and cherished
replaced by a facade of pure lies.
Lives devoured by rampant consumerism ploys,
buy this and buy that so much for Holiday cheer.
Whatever the origin of this time,
whether a birth or religious beliefs,
it seriously seems we lack the code to Christmas.
Unable to decrypt and retrace those lines.
