Pregled posta

I put on my mittens, one green and one red
And I walk alone where they bury the dead
The snow falls as I breathe
It's a Gothic, death-rock Christmas eve

The bottle is empty
The sleigh has a flat
The stripper in my bed is ugly and fat
Her tassels are tangled and what's worse
My jingle won't jangle

This time of the year makes me sick to my guts
All this good cheer is a pain in the nuts
When it's your career to be down in the dumps
Tidings of comfort and joy really suck

I feel like St. Nicholas is pulling my leg
This thing we call "Christmas" is a sorry black plague
This holiday season is
All the more reason to die

By Peter Murphy and Tom Waits