I won’t talk about Christmas, not just yet
There must be other things to talk about
This weekend’s been used up, my plans upset
By going backwards, forwards, round about
Buying, collecting, deliv’ring all sorts
Of presents, cards and silly thingamajigs
And now the weekend’s gone, the time’s been bought
And sold, and I’ve still not written lyrics
Or composed a tune; I’ve still not practised
New stuff for Ireland. But there’s still time yet
To do something before the lights go out
But I’ve not eaten, and Andy just keeps
Calling; we’ve been moaning about poets,
And our ideas for next year tumbling out
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