Christmas Eve then Christmas Morning,
Christmas Eve night there was a snoring.
Santa climbing down the chimney,
And always, at the bottom, a blazing fire that burns his booty.
When the morning comes, children wake up,
They sneak downstairs to peak at their pressies,
They see they have a stick for hockey and the DVD of wall-E,
Then they go upstairs all cheery pretending,
to sleep until they can open their gifts,
Spending the rest of the day trying to lift themselves
from the guilt of knowing what the presents were.
Hopefully next time this child will learn.