come, they told me... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... there is a newborn deity... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... bring your finest gifts and things... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... to lay before the king... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... so we honor him .... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... when we come baby jesus... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... i am a poor boy too... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... i have no gifts to bring you... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... phat enough to give the king... pa-rump pa-pum-ping... shall i play something ... pa-rump pa-pa-ping... on my drum machine... mary's hand went up... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... the ox and lamb kept beat... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... played till my face went numb... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... i have him all i was... pa-rump pa-pa-pum... then he smiled at me... pa-rump pa-pa-ping... then at my drum machine... pa-rump pa-pa-ping... me and my drum-machine....

The fireplace doesn’t warm you during Christmas… Especially when you’re alone… and lonely I’ve been tipping extra rum into my eggnog, Trying to make your voice go away, or a phone call come There’s a gift I’ve already paid for and wrapped, Sitting at the back of the tree you’ll never see Though all the songs remind me of you I still sing, smiling, with my family The fireplace doesn’t warm you during Christmas… Especially when you’re alone… I’ve sat by myself at table of friends But I know now that you break curses, By surpassing the assumed limitations… I’m not just moving on, For Christmas, I’m giving myself forgiveness Healing, a break from trying to take a break… I’m giving myself a new pair of walking boots and using them… The fireplace doesn’t warm you during Christmas… That’s not what it’s there for It’s only a hearth – a meeting place So the heart can become the radiator, Rekindled by loved ones; The spark, ember, coal conversations… That keeps us surviving till we meet again, next year, alive, even if just barely… to Share our flames Reignite our weary bones, And bake next to the fireplace My dear, I will miss you this Christmas, as much as every Christmas before And all I expect to come, but I’m letting you know… this year I promised myself I’d stay warm

Oh hey baby baby Don’t know if you got the news X2 But I’m stuck up on a mountain-top with the Christmas blues Oh, if you’re out there pretty mama, (I pray you) Hear my call and come home soon X2 Cause I got sugar jar of loving, full to the brim and waiting on you Up here on my mountain, I got too many candles, not enough flames X2 I got more hollow eyes, than my shadows have names I’ve been calling out for Jesus, But he’s not taking my calls X2 So I’m leaving him a message, if he comes looking, I’ll be at the bar… If you ever end up up here, I think you’ll dig my mountain just fine… Yeah, if find time from your career I’ve seen yours, let me show you mine The mountains are a wonderful place to be, unless your alone at Christmas time

There’s finally snow-falling on the ground out back Intricately crafted, sparkly, multi-colored paper Crumpled up around shredded boxes and bows Children a rumpus behind the sofa With the noisiest toys their uncle could afford The kitchen a wreck Too turkey-triprophaned out to do anything about it… I turn on the t.v. to watch a Christmas story for the ten-billionth time Only to find myself still laughing… You know…. she broken leg lamp on purpose In the background I hear someone playing radio-cliché Christmas tunes As they join in, singing to the fuzzy chorus, Noxious notes grow thicker in the air than the cinnamon scented candles… And the lemony lingering of stuffing over the table… I pause… realizing… I finally found santa clause ~-~ One vital stage in everyone’s “growing up” is That, all-too-soon age, when that one sandcastle kicker Who caught his parents present-stocking the tree, starts going off on tirades in school-yards About “oh yeah, well my parents told me that Santa isn’t real…” Now knowing the strength of a child’s faith… We all knew the only thing to follow such a deep stab to our sacred pre-pubescent pantheon as that…. we had a total and complete mental break-down on the play-ground… Later that day, after being consoled and calmed down from crippling-hysterical-fits of denial they tell you… it’s not that he’s not real… he’s just not alive like you and me he’s a spirit… he’s only alive in you and me ~-~ Years pass with silly questions being called silly till they hide in our mouths, going unasked, Growing assuming tradition is what we do to keep our grandparents happy. To keep our parents off our backs in hopes of getting better gifts than last year… so we dress in silly hats, to eat things, we’ve dieted for all year smile to everyone at the dinner table, including the relatives you secretly despise, and pass the potatoes play the piano sing along, even though you sound like a drunk frog vomiting belt it for the spirits… for the season… like you believe in santa one more time till you do till your belly tingles cheeks blush beard thickens you start chuckling in a way that would get you thrown out of a strip-club your arms open hugs last longer road rage turns into less of a fit you suddenly, for some reason just give a …. You even cuss a little less… This is the Christmas spirit… The possession we mass-invoke every winter solstice The joyousness of survival Toasting to our collective conquering of the winter’s threats Taking the most barren time of the year to Lavish each other in gift-giving Is there not a lesson here in the law of attraction? This is the religion some parents forget to pass on… That family, turkey, watching a Christmas story for the 1 billionth and one-th time But your nephew’s first… Is what it’s all about… Togetherness, the heart-tingle… The kids on the play-ground were wrong about the spirit… He’s not dead… Look at this face… even the broken hearts are smiling…