Chris-Mass-Hysteria Poem by mike rathbone

CHRIS-MASS-HYSTERIA

We heard it first in august
so faint and far away,
was it the breeze in summer trees
or the hiss of Santas' sleigh?

Then onwards into autumn
fuelled by commercial greed
the red white and green milking machine
is running up to speed.

Petrified like rabbits
in the bright lights caught,
we can't evade the cavalcade,
the jolly juggernaut.

The red white and green milking machine
is coming down your way,
the doors of stores, like hungry jaws
are waiting for their prey.

The bill will be fantastic
it's going to cost us dear,
stretch the elastic plastic
we'll pay it off next year!

Canned carols in grotty grottos
Santas' synthetic mirth,
Ho Ho Ho, does anyone know
where to purchase peace on earth?