So This Is Christmas

so this is Christmas for snobs and for writers
without any nice food just wine and some apples

you poor artists, you’ve murdered Santa’s spirit
now waitin’ for the critics, with no other merit

oh, but look what you’ve done
you’ve closed the door behind
there’s no one to share this song with
there’s no one who can come

so this is Christmas when the stage is just dust
the echo is a sword step back and go home
oh, what have you done with all this damn trust
if no one is there, if no one will come

the lights seem so far now
and you wonder how
could all disappear in a bottle of wine
(when just pens and some paper will make you feel fine)

and so happy Christmas for cameras and pianos
the actors are sleeping the curtains are down
there’s no bloody human for me or for you
a muse so we can make, this whole story true