Wake up, it's Christmas mourn,
Those loved have long since gone.
The stocking are hung but who cares?
Preserved for those no longer there.
Six feet beneath me sleep.
Black lights hang from the tree,
Accents of dead holy.
Whoa, mistletoe…
(It's growing cold)
I'm seeing ghost,
(I'm drinking old)
Red water,
Red water.
Red water chase them away.
My tables been set for but seven,
Just last year I dined with eleven.
Goddamn ye,
Merry gentlemen.
Whoa, mistletoe…
(It's growing cold)
I'm seeing ghosts,
(I'm drinking old)
Red water,
Red water.
Don't chase them away…