What do the lonely do at Christmas?
A yuletide mash-up

Image by MattJP on Flickr

They’re singing ‘Deck The Halls’, but it’s not like Christmas at all. I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year — it’s Christmas, baby, please come home. Last Christmas I gave you my heart: the very next day you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special. Maybe I’ll clear my junk, maybe I’ll just get drunk on apple wine. Me, I’ll be just fine and dandy — Lord, it’s like a hard candy Christmas.

I’ve been so good, so good you know. Well, why do I have to suffer so? Santa Claus, Santa Claus, please don’t make me suffer so. I ain’t like old Saint Nick — he don’t come but once a year. I come runnin’ with my presents every time you call me, dear. (That’s why they call me back door Santa.) I don’t need to hang my stocking there above the fireplace. Santa Claus won’t make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day — all I want for Christmas is you.

Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Merry Christmas, darling. We’re apart, that’s true. But I can dream, and in my dreams, I’m Christmasing with you. I know it’s gonna be joy to the world, but it’s gonna be sad for me. What do the lonely do at Christmas? You’ll be doing alright, with your Christmas of white, but I’ll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas.

I took my brother to the department store, he wanted to show Santa his Christmas list. He said, “Is that Santa really Santa Claus — really, really Santa Claus?” (I hope he doesn’t pull Santa’s beard). Are you bringing a present for me? Something pleasantly pleasant for me? That’s what I’ve been waitin’ for. Santa baby, I want a yacht, and that’s really not a lot.

Hanging my stocking, I can hear a knocking — ’zat you, Santa Claus?

Baby, it’s cold outside. Oh, the weather outside is frightful. (They say it’s gonna be a hundred degrees, even more maybe, but that won’t stop the roast. Who’s gonna make the gravy now?) But the fire is so delightful. And since we’ve no particular place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write. A silent night.

It was December 24th on Hollis Avenue in the dark, when I seen a man chillin’ with his dog in the park. I approached very slowly with my heart full of fear — oh my god, an ill reindeer! Santa Claus is coming to town. Santa Claus, go straight to the ghetto. (Tell ’em James Brown sent ya.) He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice; he’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice.

Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams: I’ll be home for Christmas, and you’ll be in my dreams. I’ve got a feeling this year’s for me and you — so happy Christmas, I love you baby, I can see a better time when all our dreams come true. Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow. Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow. So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Anwen Crawford

Anwen Crawford is The Monthly’s music critic.

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