it's always Christmastime on the streets
the flashing red and green
on cold wet pavement
await the arrival of passing sleighs
full of presents going somewhere else
for someone else
yet spirits are merry
in the bottom of bottles
or rolled dollar bills
and magic's in the air
between puffs of smoke
and little crushed pills
but the needles don't sew
or mend worn out coats
flames flicker in makeshift hearths
to warm frozen hands
the warm glow keeping
the longest night at bay
until slumber calls
and the dreamer is tucked in
fresh fallen snow
a blanket to hush the harsh words
of the bitter northern wind
