Bedsit Blues

No gifts around the Christmas tree A curled up sandwich on my knee A glass of warm beer, now gone flat A torn and faded party hat The weather like my soul is cold There’s no warm girl for me to hold The mistletoe should be a wreath It has the kiss of death beneath No greeting cards, just bills and debts No money to buy cigarettes The phone hangs silent on the wall I have no friends that I can call Sitting here in abject gloom A dull and shabby bedsit room There’s no TV for me to view Merry Christmas, God Bless You