Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse.
That knocking was caused by the clicking, with care,
Of hopeful young Trewin, who sat working there.
The band were all gathered, stuff spewing from their heads,
(not ideas but old drinks and cheap takeaway breads),
so all that we dreamt of was dismissed as crap,
and all went asunder, for a Christmas Eve nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Jeb sprung from a hole with a grunt and a splatter.
Away to the window he flew with a flash,
and out of it fell, with a scream and a crash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
chilled Jeb’s bloodied head, bloodied legs, and torso.
He stumbled and bumbled and lurched to his feet,
a trail of teeth; bones, curdled red on the street.
‘Mmeeerrrrr’, said old Jeb, as he lurched through the door,
blood covered his face, shirt, shoes; stained the floor.
Holes punched through
his head bared his pulsating brain,
though his skull was crowned white by the petrified rain.
‘It’s Santa!’ yelled Seryn with great childish glee,
and quickly manoeuvred to sit on Jeb’s knee,
‘For Christmas I want…’ Seryn started to say,
but stopped all a sudden, as Jeb’s legs gave way.
‘Gaarrrrgh!’ said the Claus now sat slumped on the stairs,
These things were the stuff of young Seryn’s nightmares.
He passed out and smashed his young head on the floor.
The wind proved his killer - decapped by the door.
The house now looked festive, though sounded like hell,
filled only with screams – no carols, no bells.
In the night, tints of laughter, as from afar I looked on,
through the sight of a sniper, should anything go wrong.
Trewin surfed downstairs, for something to drink,
stepped over Seryn’s corpse, not stopping to think,
that Jeb might need help, no legs, fractured skull,
Trewin thought of music, ‘These tracks, they sound dull…’
‘Ah-ha!’ thought the Trewin, ‘I’ve got it at last!
That section needs brass! A grand trumpet blast!’
Then I, like an angel, abseiled through the ceiling,
and sent out my own blast to send Trewin reeling.
‘But you hold no trumpet?!’ he screamed, hands on his ears,
as I kicked in his eyes, wiped spiked boots clean of tears,
‘I'm using my arse.’ I said with a smile,
before blasting another, with great rectal style.
‘THERE’S ONE MORE WHO’S BEEN NAUGHTY!’ I sniffed through the
house,
Ed stayed in slumber, curled like a woodlouse.
So I left a timed bomb there to tick by his head,
Soon he, like the others, would be messy and dead.
Now, all alone, I stopped at the computer,
Exported the tracks, like some dark cyber-looter,
And sent all the songs to the good girls and boys,
So this Christmas day, was the Christmas of noise.
Alas, corrupt files, ‘Porn virus’, I knew,
The music was lost, but I knew what to do,
‘C:\sendChristmastohell.exe’ I typed in the datum,
so Christmas was taken, and ruled, now, by Satan.
‘Well done, Tim’, he said, as he lit a cigar,
‘The boys are now dealt with – you, child, will go far!’
But I knew what to do as I lined up my sight,
‘Merry Christmas to all,’ I said, ‘and to you, a goodnight.’
His horns away flew with the shotgun's great blast,
Dominion was mine - some power at last!
I repainted hades a shade of magnolia,
And Christmas? Under me? There had been none holier.
Epilogue:
Twas the night before Christmas, and Phoria were dead,
But hell gave ideas to my all-knowing head,
The power to raise all the band from their graves,
And use them as musical (and other) corpse slaves.
----
So that, if you hadn't noticed, is that.
Don't forget THIS, also.
Do enjoy whatever you do. I'm putting this up just before heading out for Christmas Eve breakfast with old friends. Leaving the house before coffee is not something that makes any sense to me.
Enjoy yourself, pity me, egg IDS.
Merry Christmas, from All Of Us.
