Santa and Mommy,
They, they fooled around.
I felt like killing them.
Held on to the anger, burned for too long,
They all must die!

I’m at a factory, making toys for kids,
One of my coworkers is shirking all his duties.

The children’s lives now become my fixation,
Judgment is now a way of life,
St. Nick’s my transformation,
As I steal toys for good children.

Toy soldiers and a hatchet,
With every stroke of my paintbrush,
I paint my Chevy Van up, with a sleigh, it’s done up,
Company donates toys,
Production goes up, I’m all stressed out,
Many toys filling my Santa sack.

Crimson outfit, leather boots,
Beard is long and white, presents I distribute.

Embracing the lunacy of my old blood lust,
They will never laugh again; soon their lives will end.
I’ll see them die at my feet, last thing they see’s my Santa beard,
Cranial bones collapse as I smite them with my axe.

Spilling arteries’ contents!

Fleeing the scene, I head for the ‘burbs,
Coworker’s sleeping tight, my van’s on the curb.
Slicing his throat with the star atop his Yule tree,
Involuntarily nullifying all his life force.

See me, and then you die,
Fakers pacified.

At one with Kris Kringle, I feel free
To kill as I please, the police can’t stop MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

An angry mob forms, the manhunt continues,
My Chevy Van speeds up, townsfolk let me pass through.

Futility becomes their undoing,
As I drive, head out of sight,
Merry Christmas to you all,
And to all, a silent, dead night.