My words are a whisper, your deafness a shout.
The Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
The sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.
The excrement bubbles, the century slime decays, and the brainwashing government lackeys would have us say it's under control.
I'll pour a cup to you my darling, raise it up, say Cheerio.
Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.