We Came Upon a Midnight Clear
We sang upon a midnight clear
that odious song of old,
of angels bending to touch their toes
and bitch about getting old.
A piece on earth to everyone,
a glorious, rollicking shag.
Then hear in solemn stillness as
the angels gloat and brag.
For souls below need sorely now
a bop-till-you-drop kind of night,
a knee-shake, bottle-break reverie
to set their spirits right.
Look now for glad and golden hours
to follow this toe-curling fling,
and lay upon your rumpled sheets
and hear the angels sing.
Horror Sleaze Trash 