Tomorrow more than any other day, my heart will yearn in every way.
My soul will ache with need for you, for all you bring, all you do.
They tell us tis the season to be jolly, tis not to me, tis the season of folly.
For I live in falsely built decore, always wishing for you, for more.
So Santa can call his ho ho hoes, but I cant wait for the echoes to go.
Christmas is hell without the one I love.