It's Christmas Again

Dear Family who never call, Its Christmas again, And needless to say I dislike you all, But despite all my loathing. For your stupid fat faces, I’ve wrote you a poem, All full of airs and graces, Oh it’s Christmas, so, I'll blow my nose, The poems all festive, so here it goes: If you ask me it’s all a farce, You can blow your Christmas out your ****, All the greedy-robot-shoppers, drooling and grasping, makes me sad, Wide-eyed-bloated-screaming-brats, all clawing and grasping mad, Filling their shopping bags with the latest things they saw on the telly Cramming their trollies with vast amounts of food for the belly, Yes if you ask me It fills me with fear, You can ram your Christmas in your wax filled ear, All the mindless-nine-to-five-morons consume and consume and tell me I’m their brother, All dressed up to the nines swarming our towns they kiss and hug and sing to each other, Prancing, posturing and drinking to much booze with their haircuts and shoes I’d like to take to the streets with a shotgun; I’ve got nothing to lose, Yes if you ask me It makes me cry, You can poke your Christmas in Santa’s eye! All the pretty pretentious families gather around fake smiles and wrapped gifts, They eat lots of cake with their glistening eyes, But it isn’t long before their mood shifts, Soon they’ll be drunk and at each other’s throats Saying “I luv you so much, I luv you” “No, no I really really love you” what a charade, what a joke. Yes if you ask me, at Christmas I will point and laugh and shake my head, It’s an empty hollow sham, based on a make believe religion, tatty, garish, cheap and all the true festivity is dead