maybe if I spoke up
maybe if I talked to you
it wouldn’t hurt so much
now that you’re gone

I wish I was selfish
I wish I told the truth
because now I’ll keep the words I never said
and the story you’ll never know
buried inside
letting it kill me
wishing you understood

The Eighth had brought some mistletoe,
And aimed for Seven, to Seven’s woe:
‘Ah! No! Rrrrrevolting! Ace! D’you mind?
Try Six, he’s more that way inclined.’
‘That way inclined? Inclined? What, me?
I burst with masculinity!

[…]

Five called to light the pud this year –
‘You’re good at starting fires, I hear?’
The dancing flames sent Eight insane:
‘Yes! I remember! Pudding Lane!’
He planted Five with juicy smackers,
Two and Seven pulled on crackers,

[…]

‘I knew Puccini once,’ sighed Eight,
‘He had the softest lips.’ That’s great,
But stay away from me, you sissy,’
Four looked cautious, Eight looked kissy.
Three o’clock, the Queen appeared,
The Third, all patriotic, cheered,
But Eight, lips puckered, mistletoe handy,
Went for the clown and got the dandy.
Tried again to get the clown,
But got a slap, so settled down.