Comes again the time of plastic wreaths upon the door,
golden popcorn bubbles oozing caramel on the floor.
Cousin Ed, supposed dead, has stopped by for some cheer.
Here’s a shop where if you stop the people call you ‘dear.’
There they’ve hung a bearded man outside the bullet store.
In the hallway, mottled elves complain their feet are sore.
On the sidewalk, Santa Claws just hit you with his bell.
Everyone is merry: "Watch your feet there!" "Go to hell !"
Oh, it makes you want to heave on someone’s blinking tree,
boil a skunk for dinner, cast your cash into the sea.
Wait! Is that a wise man underneath the distant star?
No, it’s just some guy who wants to sell you a used car.