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New Year’s as Seen through Christmas

We drink, we get drunk, and we sleep
We rise up again and we keep
on repeating the feast and the fast
of year upon year, until at last
The gray in the hair makes its way to the brain
And our sons and our daughters do the whole thing again
And each generation passes on without knowing
Their reason for coming, their reason for going
Philosophers, poets, and prophets and sages
Have passed all their reasons on down through the ages
But none of their reasons have slowed down the gray
And none of their poems have stopped the decay
A new kind of wisdom and word was required
To bind up the flesh in which we’re all mired:
The infinite cycle got broke
A Boy stuck a stick in the spoke

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