HOMELESS WASSAIL

(by Ian Robb)


"Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our cup is white and our ale is brown"
But huddled on the iron grate
we poor and hungry curse our fate.

	No wassail bowl for such as these
	No turkey scraps, no ale nor cheese,
	This Christmas Eve our heart's desire
	Is a bottle of gin and a trashcan fire.

Good Christian, mind, as home you go
With dreams of holly and mistletoe
That the holly bears a dreadful thorn
For those who wake to a frozen dawn.

	No wassail bowl ...

Oh, where is He, that holy child
Once born of Mary, meek and mild?
And whither peace, goodwill to men
Now and forevermore, amen?

	No wassail bowl ...

All ye who dine with face aglow
In Reginensi atrio				(in the Queen's hall)
Pray pause a while at pleasure's door
And sup some sorrow with the poor.

	No wassail bowl ...

"Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our cup is white and our ale is brown"
This cold and hunger, pain and care----
	pause
Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear.

	*** no final chorus !!! ***

recording: Finest Kind [YouTube]

recording: Broadside Electric [YouTube]