Christmas Twenty Twenty

I set upon my open chair
And daydream in the wandering air
"What, oh what, do I want this day?"
Yea, there is nothing, nothing, of late.

Desire has turned inward and sour
There is nothing in this great world
Which I want at this hour.

I search for a book
But they've all been written;
I search for a game
But they've all been played.

I search for a woman
But none have me smitten
I search for a song
But none are so gay.

For on this Christmas
Families are scattered
The heathens have shattered, 
Oh how they've shattered
All hopes, all gifts, there is nothing left to say.

For desire is broken, 
On this Christmas Day.