'Tis the season to be jolly,
casting away wants and folly
as ashes of callousness secretes beauty,
and our fingers relax, fists are calm,
holding goodwill in our palms,
we are all adorned in peace.

Ancient yuletides toll
in every word that rolls
from stoutly lips, purifying the air,
and suddenly selfish wants
are trapped in brokenness' blizzard, and no longer daunts
our sugarplum dreams, blowing gaily in the air.

Hark the herald as we ride love's train, 
where human worth is no longer measured by gain, 
stars of light emanates from within
and, we are transformed,
cleansed from the mire of evil and scorn,
indeed, we suffer for this season,
Al -le-lu-ia.