There's a wild boar in the box,
immaculate defection in my chest;
across the meadow tracks of paws of a fox
laid out in the snow at the snow's behest

The morning migraine is pulling the curtain,
while I don't know what is and isn't certain
At X-mas Eve I'm a redundant fact,
dismissing the big, letting the minuscule act

No use making the troglodytes aware
of their fat pig head personalities;
I have no lesser way to care
when they meet their forthcoming fatalities

My back seems a lot better
but my head is on the loose,
while interpreting to the letter
the fucking deity's snooze

Miss Migraine hits me a second time,
making my head a bell making everything chime,
my eyes having blinding fireworks crack;
if I knew where to go, I'd know what to pack

Johnny's ring of fire surrounds me good,
helps not pulling down my Robin Hood hood,
no it does not do me any good,
if I really did stand I don't know where I stood

Only a bloodbath could wash the troglodytes clean;
got the dirtiest minds anyone's ever seen
I'd like to pee in their faces and have them Putinized,
then send them straight down to Anti-Christ