Santa's coming, Santa's coming
On his way with sounds of drumming.
Stars burn to ashes in his sight
And from the ashes re-ignite
Shining in black-silver light!
The old man his s’eigh has stopped,
To the angels he then talked:
- Stop throwing stars in my trail
And comets with heavy tails
My big rabbit, the friendly bloke
Is scared of too much smoke....
But a curly-haired angel still
A cartload of stars caused to spill...
The Rabbit with c’osed eyes,
Pulls the s’eigh through the skies
And on his silvered, secret way
Stars ignite and burn away....