My Jesus, Mercy

By Reid Laurence

Holidays will come what may

They come, they go

But hear this nay…

That Christmas time

And frills of folly

Mistletoe and leaves of holly

Dissatisfy the deeds and plan

To run amuck the tyrant man

Somehow he lives

We cannot say

For war, for lies

We kneel, we pray

But will there come a better day?

We bury dead

But still we say…

A holiday must take its course

But to what end

In what discourse

And to what end

And with remorse

A holiday must take its course

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