Perched on telephone wires, above fresh linen snow,
Knots in black cotton, sparrows waiting to go.
It’s time to wake up, Dad, it’s here – Christmas Day,
I’ve got a new fort and I can’t wait to play.
It’s under the tree, Dad, I’ve been down for a peep,
I know it’s still dark but how can you sleep?
We can be cowboys, come on, let’s have fun,
We can shoot all the baddies, I’ve got caps in me gun.
I wrote a letter to Santa, I said all me prayers,
He’s brought me a spring thing that walks down the stairs!
Oh look, it’s amazing, wake up or I’ll cry,
Dad, don’t roll over, at least open one eye.
On a bed, fixed to wires, you struggle to breathe,
My guilt comes in waves as I beg you to leave.
It’s time to sleep on, Dad, don’t wake ever again,
I can’t bear to see you afraid and in pain.
Untie the knots, spread your wings into flight,
Don’t wake up, don’t wake up, keep those tired eyes shut tight.
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(The contrast between being desperate for my Dad to wake up on Christmas morning when I was a child, and hoping he wouldn’t wake up when he was in hospital and his life was no longer worth living.)