Three beers and Pol Ex down your system, you too want to ‘believe’
Of the mythical white beard angel, the gifts that follow and the thorny green leaves,
But then as the truth as told haunts, and the shaking senses that follow,
Your desire to be a part of the myth, keeps whittling away leading you to a hollow.
From crazy innuendos of your beer belly, toy planes, right to the midget you saw on the pavement back home,
It all leads you to scrutinize the sheer choice of people for the fable, the fat guy, flying caribous and many a gnome.
For a brief moment, the fermented barley makes you impersonate the big paunchy man,
To your surprise and not others’ you shout out loud, ‘Ho Ho Ho’, coz now you no longer give a damn,
While popular culture preaches prosperity and peace
The premium lager seeks a leak, and you oblige with a piss,
As you come to term with your senses, you see ignited stars, stockings, and chirpy little children
The innocence so pure, the feeling so warm, the happiness so infectious, you just can’t refrain,
At that moment, just that one glimpse of the spirit, makes you forget the fact that all this was just to deceive,
As in the Pol Ex, you hear the bells, see the dwarfs, reindeers, Santa, and yes, you do believe.