Snow like ash on the parking lot
Leather coats
Patched up
Breath runs hot
We waited all year by the backstage door
Setlists taped to the fridge like lore
Then the sirens start to drone
Red and white torn to the bone
Boots in the yard
Beard in the trees
Blood in the shape of a twisted wreath
Santa’s in pieces
And so are our hearts
Metalheads raging in the dead of the dark
No black vinyl
No loud midnight show
If he won’t bring thunder
We’ll make our own
Santa’s in pieces
We’ll stitch him with sound
Raise up the volume
Burn this night down
[growled] Ho-ho-holy hell
What did they do
Who cut the cords and silenced you
We’ll weld the sleigh with chains and flame
Turn this ruin into our new name
Santa in pieces
© Copyright: Вячеслав Мозжухин, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125122706988
Свидетельство о публикации №125122706988
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