The birds are all gone, 

They sing no more.

Angry shouts, gunshots 

And only despair to pour 

In the empty wine glass 

For the empty Christmas

Mourning over the death of the poor.

No jingles, no carols, 

They aren't sweet anymore.

Broken souls, fractured hearts,

Minds numb, feet sore.

That is what it looks like,

The times haven't really changed,

It's just the date.

It's the same all over again,

Death doesn't differentiate.