Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
But the tree was undecorated, which it deemed unfair
So it crept to the cupboard, and swung it open with glee
Decorations piled out; how full could it be?
It turned and it saw your brother standing wide-eyed
And beat the shit out of him; no wonder he lied!
With blood on its branches and tinsel in leaves
It kicked your mother's door open - no chance to flee!
An empty vaseline jar, and a good fucking, done
Heavy breathed calls to dad to complete all the fun
Now you know the truth, and you know what to burn
The raping, violent, prank-calling tree this Christmas morn'
a poem by lintire