THE SCROOGE IN ME
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Cold hands, cold feet
Cold month, cold week
Cold night, the eve of 25th.
There's nothing new
It's just the sign
This yuletide night, im 25.

So i got up
That one cold morn
With colder coffee clutched
Not even hot corn-and-crab soup
To calm my starving paunch.

After my coldest ever meal
I sat on my cold seat
It soon began to dawn on me
I am a Christmas cynic!

The thought of having Christmas day
Send shivers down my spine
The season's zeal and fervor
Don't appeal since I was nine.

Boy I have no idea
What to do on Christmas feast
Should I call pizza?
Watch a flick?
Or stick to MTV?

At 25 I'd rather hibernate
My loneliness I'll laud
For after all I have believed
That Christmas is a fraud.