He’s made in the season
Which can put frost on my chin
The whistling winter wind

Whips flakes on his skin


He wears his top hat
And stands on my lawn
In the cold, frigid air
From dusk to dawn

His orange nose
Is stuck onto his face
I pity his destiny
That no one can erase

There’s no way for him
To escape his inevitable demise
That begins every day
When the sun starts to rise

His eyes gaze out
So dense and black
Hands reached out far
Yet no one waves back

He must feel so alone
Like a castaway on a boat
Out there on his own
With three buttons and no coat

That’s no way to spend
The holiday season
Which gives me the reason
To build him a friend