Wake up, it's Christmas mourn
Those loved have long since gone
The stockings are hung but who cares
Preserved for those no longer there
Six feet beneath me sleep
Black lights hang from the tree
Accents of dead holly
Whoa mistletoe
(It's growing cold)
I'm seeing ghosts
(I'm drinking old)
Red water
Red water

Red water chase them away
My tables been set for but seven
Just last year I dined with eleven
Goddamn ye merry gentlemen
Whoa mistletoe
(It's growing cold)
I'm seeing ghosts
(I'm drinking old)
Red water
Red water
Red water chase them away.

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): PETER THOMAS STEELE