Cold sore

Street lamps for old blankets and Santa steps in,
two pints of mothers ruin and let Christmas begin
but it’s brass monkeys out there and we’re nice and chill
with a gallon of mulled wine on the inside window sill,
still it could be worse
that poser could be writing another shite verse

but they would say that wouldn’t they?

anyhow whichever way you spend Christmas day
spend a little on those who have only a little,

if you’re saving up for a place in heaven
you’ve got to give it away.

North of the Gap
we’ve got none of that
because we’re all fucking poor,
but we sure got
big hearts.

God in his mercy
might
look at my verse
he
could like it
on Facebook,

fuck
that’d be good

and if I go to hell
so be it,
well
I’ll be in great
company.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.