The following was written in response to a friend having a moan about Carols ... in fact I have a few friends who don't appear to appreciate their lyrical merits ... it was interesting how these writings developed into one which tells the story of the Prodigal Son, still with a hint of Christmas.
Old Grumpy men rejoice
for you there is no choice.
Christmas comes but once a year
but still you have to show good cheer
soon it will be gone
soon it will be gone!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In this bleak mid-winter
I begin to moan.
Where are all the carols
I can sing alone?
Sentimental saccharin
leaves me quite upset.
Nothing like the story
no-one should forget!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silent night, don't be trite.
Noise was heard, every word!
Angels streaming in the sky,
shepherds screaming "Let us die!"
“We can't take any more ...
We can't take any more!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Away in a pig sty, no money, no friends;
the prodigal wonders if this is the end.
But then he remembers his Father's true worth
and runs for his home and the place of his birth.
His Father is weeping, his whole world is down;
his brother is hoping he'll never be found.
But when he is spotted, approaching the hill,
his Father rejoices for he loves him still.
The party has started, the calf's not impressed;
the prodigal weeps as in fine robes he's dressed.
The brother must welcome this wanderer back home
where grace, love and peace make a manger a throne!
