Who's that knocking at the window?
Who's that standing at the door?
What are all those presents laying on the kitchen floor?
Who is the laughing stranger with his hair as white as gin?
What is he doing with the children?
Who could have let him in?
Why has he rubies on his fingers?
Gold crown on his head.
Why when he caws his carol
Does the salty snow run red?
Why does he ferry my fireside
As a spider on a thread,
His fingers made of fuses
And his tongue of gingerbread?
Why does the world before him
Melt in a million suns,
Why do his yellow, yearning eyes
Burn like saffron buns?
Watch where he comes walking
Out of the Christmas flame,
Dancing, double-talking:
And Herod is his name.