If Tom Waits wrote the most gritty and depressing Christmas song he possibly could, it might sound a little like this...

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Shortest day of the year
Now the darkest night is here
The perfect place to be
With the loser that drives the moving van
And the burnt-out excuse for a business man
Chuggin' down more here than he's allowed at home


Santa's waitin' for the cops
The skinhead ripped him off
Stole the whole bag of toys
Now he's sittin' here in the dyin' light
Drowning his failure in whiskey and rye
Wonderin' if there's any point now to going home


Oh come and join us at the Christmas Bar
Just follow the neon star
Sometimes feels like there's big, fake, stupid
Joy wherever you are
But not at the Christmas Bar.


Dead smoke fills the air
But nobody seems to care
Cheap tinsel on a tiny tree
that used to light up and turn about
But the leak in the roof went 'n' shorted it out
Now we've all forgot the words to There's No Place Like Home


Oh come and join us at the Christmas Bar
Just follow the neon star
Sometimes seems like there's big, fake, stupid
Joy wherever you are
Well it ain't at the Christmas Bar.


Guess it's wet enough for snow
But it's just above freezin', not below
Why do we stay? I don't know
It gets to me, I won't try to lie
The empties make me wanna cry
Every time I think about gettin' up and goin' ho... ho... ho...
(Hey Nicky, why dontcha bring me another one of those 'presents...)
I drunk this one dry


Oh come and join us at the Christmas Bar
Just follow the neon star
And if it seems like there's big, fake, stupid
Joy wherever you are
Come and try the Christmas Bar.