A doubt is known to be more corrosive
Than any t' weather, acid, water
Salt, nature, can put in one's way
And Philippe Petit feared nothing
More than doubt. Oh, what he would
Have done without, such thoughts
To have doubt cynically with brush
Invade thoughts when walking on ropes
Across the twin towers that was
Why set doubt in the minds of the young's "belief"
And kill Santa Claus dead in his tracks
Why begrudge utopia with curse not needed
And tell the little one
Santa is too fat to fit in a chimney
And for that, Santa is not coming this year
I often wonder, left to contemplate, a hint of anger
What wrong was done to the fortune teller
Who conveys nothing, but bad, bad news
To say Santa will not come this year in "rumple" truth
"I foresee, in my cards, in your palms
In the crystal ball, I foresee"
I bequest t' King to ask for the banishments
Of such false prophecy and doubt of the grinch
I bequest t' king to demand, Christmas back
For Santa Claus to come again, bearing gifts
And put a big old smile on the face of the lovely
Why set doubt in such "festive" spirit, grinch
Why kill the spirit with your corrosive doubt
Under the Christmas tree on boxing day, darling
Look close dear, for your wishes would come true
