This is a Journal entry by Lord Preston

Christmas in the Alley

Post 1

Lord Preston

The deep crimson red,
Mixed with the white,
Spilling and oozing,
Colouring the flower bed,
Flowing to the gutter,
It's Christmas in the alley,
Christmas in the alley.

The cough of a passer by,
The huddled shuffle,
Breaking to a jog,
They hear your wounded cry,
But they wont ever care that,
It's Christmas in the alley,
Christmas in the alley.

The chilling icicles,
Numbs your useless legs,
Now bathed in blood,
You hear bells of 'cycles,
But they wont ever find you,
It's Christmas in the alley,
Christmas in the alley.

Presents for daughter,
Their paper ripped,
She'll never see them now,
Melting snow to water,
Unless she also knows,
It's Christmas in the alley,
Christmas in the alley.

The happiest days near,
The day of good will,
A man shuffles past,
He looks away in fear,
But he's not the one who's,
Christmas is in the alley,
Christmas in the alley.


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Christmas in the Alley

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