HOMELESS WASSAIL
(Ian Robb c 1998)
Wassail, wassail all over the town,
Our cup is white and our ale is brown;
But huddled on this iron grate
We poor and hungry curse our fate.

Chorus:
No Wassail bowl for such as these,
No turkey scraps, no ale, no cheese;
This Christmas Eve our heart's desire
Is a bottle of gin and a trash-can fire.

Good Christian mind as home you go,
With dreams of holly and mistletoe,
That the holly bears a dreadful thorn
For those who wake to a frozen dawn

Oh, where is he that holy child
Once born of Mary, meek and mild?
And wither peace, good will to men
Now and forevermore, amen?

All ye who dine with face aglow
In regenenciatrio
Pray, pause awhile at pleasure's door
And sup some sorrow with the poor.

Wassail, wassail all over the town
Our cup is white and our ale is brown;
This cold and hunger pain and care,
Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear!