The Ghost of Christmas Future
Much to do with shadow and ghastly renown,
Showing us all where we end up in the ground.
Rusty hinges, let swing old cemetery gates.
Their screeching is all you offer our debates
about how we will change, how we’ll do better
but attrition clouts not, the eternal bedder.
Show not the casket, show not the carriage.
I have not the time for dreams to disparage.
But you knell all the same, in your dingy cloak
Damn you, I am terrified, I’m starting to choke
Wake me from this horror, wake me from this dream
He got the better of me, “I’ll Change!” I scream
On the ground I wake, all is quiet, all is calm
I’m safe from that devil, my “humbug”, my alms
I’ve renounced my ingratitude, saved from the noose
On to make right, and buy old Cratchit a prize goose