My Jesus, Mercy

Holidays will come what may
They come, they go
But hear this nay…

That Christmas time
And frills of folly
Mistletoe and leaves of holly
Dissatisfy the deeds and plan
To run amuck the tyrant man

Somehow he lives
We cannot say
For war, for lies
We kneel, we pray
But will there come a better day?
We bury dead
But still we say…

A holiday must take its course
But to what end
In what discourse
And to what end
And with remorse
A holiday must take its course