T’was the night before Christmas and surrounding the house,
The undead where gathering and lurching about.
The windows were boarded with plywood in sheets,
In the hopes that the zombies would move down the street.
The shotgun was nestled right next to the bed,
If they come through the door, I’ll blow off their heads.
And Mamma had turned from the bite in her hand
So I bashed in her head with an old frying pan.
When out on the lawn I heard something shatter,
I peaked through the spyhole to see what was the matter.
A ways down the block, there walked Mr. Nash
Torn open and turning, from a big bloody gash
The moon on the breast of the blood splattered snow
Gave a luster of crimson to the slaughter below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight zombie reindeer;
With a gruesome old driver, so gory and sick,
I knew in a moment, it was the dreaded Saint Nick.
More bloody than leeches, his legend, defamed,
As he flew through the night, seeking the living to maim.
On Duke street! On Main street! Now Frank Street and Dixon!
On Finch street! On Dutch street! On Conner and Nixon!
To the top of the town, all the way down to the mall,
He slaughtered the, slaughtered them, slaughtered them all!
As dead as a doornail, the living they slew,
When they met with an obstacle, they bashed their way through,
So up to the house, the undead did hunt
With a yard full of zombies, and St. Nicolas in front.
And then in an instant I heard overhead
The gnashing and clawing of the dead.
As I loaded my shotgun and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicolas fell before I could get off a round.
He was covered in gore, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all tarnished with blood, brains and meat;
A bundle of bodies he had flung in his pack,
And he looked like a tiger, just about to attack!
His eyes how were like pustules, his skin grey to the bone!
His teeth were all broken, his nose was just gone.
His hungry, black mouth was pulled up in a sneer,
And the side of his head was missing an ear.
The remains of some poor soul, held tight in his teeth,
And the stink of the dead, encircled his head like a wreath.
He was bloated with rot, a gashed open belly
That shook when he walked, guts running like jelly.
He was hungry and rotten, right scary and dead.
I laughed when I saw him, my sanity fled.
The dead look in his eye, and the twist of his head,
I soon pissed my pants, my heart filled with dread;
He spoke only one word, a long twisted, “braaaains’,
And lunged with a jerk; my life nearly slain.
But laying my hand aside of my gun,
I fired one last shot for I had nowhere to run.
His head it did burst, like an overripe melon,
And then I noticed the bite like the stab of a felon.
But soon I will have nothing to fear,
Happy Christmas to all, I’ll be coming for you next year!