All but them now sing unto me how
“There's the one, there's the one!” Shrill Shrieking Cow;
And howling moon did bury itself
to hide the indignation of what is finally left
of this widowed Christmastide.

Say to the cooks! Say to the feast!
“Harken thou hungry, Thou ill-reposed, Thou deceased!”
Let us pray to LORD JESUS! Let us exhume this sane beast!
Let us leech off this merriment and finally come back
to the light from the dark;
Lest we forget love's intemperance in our wild leaning lark.

What say you, Kitten? How is the veal?
Is it suddenly my fault we can finally feel?
Why play the master when you're so good at subjection?
Is it really my fault you've lousy sensed moral direction?
But look up it's Christmas! Look up it's here!
Look back! Its one more out of every time of year.

And the Blessed Virgin Mary did enliven her host;
And her cooks and her feast and her hungry,
her ill-reposed, her tired deceased did choir toy song.
What song started merry! What song ended bad.
What song martyred Jesus which we finally had.