The night before Christmas

    And all down the line.

 The bullets are flying

   Some theirs, some mine.

 The night before Christmas

   And all through the night

 People are dying

    None from fright.

 A truce they called

    Good will towards men.

 The bullets are flying

    For some, it's the end.

The red and the green

    Goblins fly by

Some theirs, some ours,

    many will die.

A quick prayer

    A quicker tear.

The smell, the rain

    The leg wetting fear.

Sickly sweet blood flows in the rain

    A short muffled cry, can't hide the pain.

Oh God help me and my best friend

    Not to die, not to meet this dark end.

Dark shapes spew green fire towards us

   Grim faces, cold eyes issue our red reply.

Many are lost

   And some will die.

The lucky will disappear into the dark sky

   The rest stand and stare

Too numb to reply.

But it's the night before Christmas

   Supposed good will towards men.

Where has it gone,

   How will it end?