Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung, with unusual care,
Prezzies awaiting, but nobody’s there.
The light that’s a-glistening on new-fallen-snow
Gives a ghostly green shadow to all things below.
And off in the distance, what do we see
But a mushroom of dust that is coming for thee.
The president’s safe tucked up in his bunker,
His aides and attachés, frightened, they hunker.
There’s no peace on earth, but there’s no more to fear,
Too late, one-and-all, for a Happy New Year.