|
Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our cup is white and our ale is brown
But huddled on this iron grate
We poor and hungry curse our fate:
No wassail bowl for such as these
No turkey scraps, no ale no cheese
This Christmas Eve our hearts' desire
Is a bottle of gin and a trashcan fire.
Good Christian mind, as home you go
With dreams of holly and mistletoe,
That the holly bears a dreadful thorn
For those who wake to a frozen dawn:
Oh, where is he, that Heavenly Child
Once born of Mary, meek and mild?
And whither peace, goodwill to men
Now and for evermore, amen?
All ye who dine with face aglow
In Reginensi Atrio
Pray pause awhile at pleasure's door
And sup some sorrow with the poor:
Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our cup is white and our ale is brown
This cold and hunger, pain and care
Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear:
|