Dreaming

I'm dreaming of a capitalist Christmas
Just like the ones when I was young
When the dreams of getting
Overcame the intentions
Of conscientious parents
And angels in the snow
Here we, instead, are fishing
For a Dow Jones, high and strong,
And the tinsel dreams of corpulent fathers
In brown three piece Brooks Brothers suits
Smoking the round cigars of their success
And the jingle, jingle, jingle
Of gold and silver, Chris Kringle,
For the wise men will keep their treasures
And forego a long journey beneath an explosion of stars
Rather than leave extravagant wishes
To puzzle a poor carpenter and his new family
Huddled in a cave against the cold,
Treasuring in their hearts
Only the gift of God himself,
Mewling among the lambs and yearling cattle.
A promise of treasures kept in Heaven
Just lost on the high and mighty
Secure in their mortgaged castles
Cutting off the first born
With a wave of jewel-bedecked fingers,
The carpenter and his family
Absconding in the empty night
To bare sanctuary
And later home to Nazareth.