| December is the cruellest month
|
| but this year for once my cheeks are warm
|
| After long years in the wilderness
|
| I’m ready for the storm
|
| Let them throw all their cannonballs
|
| let all their strong men come
|
| I’m ready to go anywhere
|
| through venom, sick and scum
|
| December isn’t always cold
|
| This year she’s mine and I know why
|
| Somewhere a flower has to grow
|
| for every flower that dies
|
| I’m stricken with fever
|
| but my heart is strong as steel
|
| I’m ready to go anywhere
|
| I can believe! |
| I can feel!
|
| December is a trusted friend
|
| I always recognise her face
|
| It’s a plague of fools thrown aside forever
|
| by her soft and silent grace
|
| She is reckless as a mayday
|
| gentle as a stone
|
| and ready to go anywhere
|
| to carry me back home
|
| December fell deep in the bleak midwinter time
|
| when Jesus Christ howled a saviour baby’s howl
|
| a primal truth as pure as ice
|
| And though we crucified him on a cross
|
| and dragged his words from prayer to curse
|
| He was able to go anywhere
|
| He was almost one of us |