walk the dusty streets 

of my home town. 
Wondering and wondering, 
its Christmas 

and I wonder 
"where is my hope? 

I clutch my bowling bag 
tightly hoping and wondering...... 
"Where is the magic? 

the magic of Christmas time" 
I peak inside my 
bowling bag hoping 

that the little 
thing would move, 
speak to me, 

forgive me the 
mistake that I have done. 

I clutch the 
hidden butcher knife 
from my jacket, 

Christmas is gone 

and its all my fault. 
Age is hurting me; 
my mental disabilities 
are not doing better at all. 

My mother is no more, 
my father is dead, 
the tree is burnt 
and the cops 
are all on red. 

My memory comes back 
and i look in the bag 
for it is the head 
of my mother 
that was in the bag. 

i remember now, 
Christmas day, 
the time for joy 
and the time for play. 

The bowling bag, 
a Christmas day 
thats gone so bad. 

I remember I remember, 
I came in the night. 
Slit my mothers throat 
for a torturous life. 

And so the ending 
of Christmas is here,