• Flakes of pure cover the land of dark,
    Sprinkle over to season the earth,
    Hoping to shed beauty and warmth,
    Whilst only bringing hindering heaven,
    Preventing the coming burden,
    But just for a while.

    Warm covers drawn again,
    Little heads tucked into little beds,
    Beyond the wall,
    Twisting ghosts upon chilling moors,
    Growl along with the ghouls, sounding their ghastly call,
    Though those little beds protecting those little heads,
    Will be protected from them all.

    For a blanket of twinkle has swept the land,
    Death follows its waking,
    Signaling the dappled morn,
    That soon will be breaking,
    And to those awaking,
    Will be grinning with joy,
    For no nightmares were brought; dreams were sought,
    Of what was rustling in the chimneys,
    Of who was filling each and every stocking,
    Yes, gone are the cookies,
    Now the fire is brewing,
    For Christmas Morning.