Glorious steps lit by kings
Leave a Christmas imprint and crunch.
In the fib of legends, warmth.
"Follow me pauper and I'll line your stomach gold.
Gold more precious than stew
More precious than shelter
More precious than vocation.
A gold for fire-side stories and song."
A money metal for money feasts
Keeping you wanting and grateful.
A tinsel noose wrapped around the neck of mothers
Is strange fruit for trees,
Baubles hung fatal.
Follow him pauper
Into the cull of charity and debt
And let the season of goodwill reign.
Its warm in the hollow of promises
In the desolation of myth.
He'll jolly a laugh and raise a glass
As you turn your heating down.
He'll be your king and gorge
While you freeze to death in his footsteps.