Christmas Blues

A bucket of water has more purpose than I.
I live, I breathe, though with a heavy sigh.

What is it that I am doing here
On this great and godless sphere?

This grand fest of immortal pain,
Oh I, some poor soul's greatest bane

I might not wish to go and find Death's lair.
Seek him out high and low, here and there,

But, were he to call my name

As loudly and as boldly as his own,
I might scream back an answer

With a near zealous tone!
Were he to come for my head

with bone-gripped scythe swinging,
He might just find my neck

Outstretched, ready and swooning.

And say it's all over and done for
and I'm finally no more.

Then you could all pretend
I was never once here before.

Forget then all that we used to share.
Erase it all like it was never there.

If I could take it all with me I would

Just so you never shed a single tear
for I who rues my first day here.

Then and only then would I truly be gone,
Absent in life and absent in thought

As if I was never born.
I alone would shed that tear,

For all that I never was
For all that I could have been.

For that there was my only real sin
and all the others that I did,

I did with a grin,
And I'd do again.