Tom: Well, the carpet has been drinking. Yes, the can opener has been drinking. I see the typewriter has been drinking. (Sound of doorbell.) The doorbell has been drinking. Well, I'll be. Peter Murphy. Come on in.
Pete: Hello, Tom. How's it going?
Tom: Ah, you know, the usual. I'll tell ya. This lawsuit thing against that drag queen in Georgia is taking forever. What brings ya over here Pete?
Pete: Well, Tom. Through the night I have been tortured by fever dreams of a lovely and ethereal woman-child perpetually beyond my taunted reach, driving me to the very brink of madness.
Tom: Hmm, geez. Well, I hope she's stacked. Gee, Pete, I'd offer you a drink, but I've downed the whole thing myself already.
Pete: Then, Tom, for lack of spirits let us toast this cold and empty noel with a song.
Tom: Eh, that's not a bad idea.
Oh, give me a noose I can hang from the tree
I need no excuse to end my misery
This holiday season is all the more reason to die
Oh, pull up a stool and an ear to a fool
Once found some solace in the season of yule
This holiday season is all the more reason to cry
I put on my mittens, one green and one red
And I walk alone where they bury the dead
The snow falls as I breathe
It's a Gothic, death-rock Christmas eve
The bottle is empty
The sleigh has a flat
The stripper in my bed is ugly and fat
Her tassels are tangled and what's worse
My jingle won't jangle
This time of the year makes me sick to my guts
All this good cheer is a pain in the nuts
When it's your career to be down in the dumps
Tidings of comfort and joy really suck
I feel like St. Nicholas is pulling my leg
This thing we call "Christmas" is a sorry black plague
This holiday season is
All the more reason to die