It's not yet December, it's not yet time.
To wheel out the tree, or remember the second line
Of addresses of people you write to once a year
Wishing them well for this season of mockery and fake cheer.
We're not rid of November but everywhere you see
Faceless corporations are selling it with Glee
Or Twilight, or Star Wars or whatever makes cash
Making your perfect Christmas before hiding the stash.
Christmas parties are sorted, T.V plannings a rule
But the advent calendars aren't even opened, it November you fool
I don't hate the this time of year, or the days of Noel
Just stop ramming it down my throat, that means you as well.
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