Canasono Besprela

Negelo belofi, berresa.
Doem Filero.
Il a Doem Filero.

Convalo, magrapoli is agraphol.
Is agraphol, Il magra.
Il magra a magras!

Negelo belofi, berresa.
Il caramanda - il, caramanda.

Convalo, rulimentra,
a baleri, rulimentra.
A carase Doem Filero.
A carese Doem Filero!

Adoranota Doem Filero.

Negelo belofi, berresa.

Il caramanda - il, caramanda.
Un bultero o bulero.

Doem Filero...
Doem Filero...

Ulatra besprela, il se
Canasona Besprela.

"Doem Filero! Doem Filero!
A grivelaro!
Filero, Filero!"
Non!
Non!
Non!"

Negelo belofi, berresa.
Negelo belofi, berresa
Doem Filero.

Ulatra besprela, il se
Canasona Besprela.

Moonsequiter

And Beethoven's rained on
As he moves to the shelter,
Where deaf people
go to sleep.

Where dead people sleep.
Beethoven's reign's on
the shelter.
We can't hear you.

Old Times

Young times only tend to fade,
Reality will let them in.

But what if time's a static thing,
We live around and move within
To make some sense of nothing?

Old times only tend to fade,
Reality will float within.

But what if time's a static thing,
We live around and move within
To make our sense of nothing?

The Price of Decorations

Jingle Bells
Festive Hell.
Thoughtless treats and sickly eats,
Pickled brain cells and free range meats.
Buying love for another year and pretending for a holly jolly moment that it will dissipate the tears.
Decorating your halls with stolen Holly, pissing away a months worth of work in the trolley.
The glint in a child's eye burning to a cinder with the cry of no batteries included.
Manufacturers manufacture the idyllic yuletide fantasy, a snowy fraud so blatant it eclipses the winter of nature.
Angels atop pretend trees look down upon cracked crackers and Christmas dinner beatings, crying over baubles and drowning tinsel.
Santa Claus sells out, story land cottages and the smell of fresh snow replaced by stockholder Reindeer and corporate Elves.
The agony of Family diluted by Xmas alcoholism and televisual embolisms.
Religious significance and Nature's magnificence left in the back room with the children and animals.
And then it is over, another years permitted indulgence and we return to the dawn of a new year wondering whether we will last to enjoy that next Christmas cheer.

You Are Tumbleweed Memories

You Are Tumbleweed Memories,
And these are my words to you:

Snow falls by windows
Into whirlpools
To disappear.
But you are Tumbleweed Memories
And you are still here.

Christmas Is Coming

Bollocks

Melodies Not Meant

I look at the walls
when the stars aren't dancing
and listen to melodies
that aren't for romancing.

I stare at the ceiling
when I'm hurting from feeling
my feelings for you.

I walk through the halls
when the sun won't start shining.
I cover my crimes in my sleep
when my heart is declining to weep.

It's where lost loves linger and leap
to the notes of the tune that I keep
playing out on repeat...

I look at the walls,
When the stars aren't dancing
And listen to melodies
Not meant for romancing.

Orange Birds

Orange birds slip by on blue,
I sit beneath them,
looking at you.

Blue Spilling

There's little point stopping the blue
Spilling from the factories,
And slipping into homes.
Where men beat up wives,
And kids sit on steps
And prices go up,
And you're feeling kept.
When Christmas lights go on
And you want to cry.
(Well, let yourself cry.)
There's little point stopping the blue
Slipping from your guilt
And running through your home.
It's only pain you felt.
You earned it, after all.

Father Christmas

There's a town I tiptoe around
Like a tramp on Monday mornings,
Hoping to avoid her.
And telling myself
There's a town I tiptoe around,
Like a kid on Christmas morning,
Looking for unwrapped gifts,
And evidence that
There's a town I tiptoe around
Like a drunk on his last orders.
Hoping to avoid him
Reminding herself
Father Christmas doesn't exist.