Iâ€™m a little light bulb,
Hanging on the tree.
Though you use me every year
You never think of me.
Wasting electricity on twinkly lights
To bring pleasure to your lives,
But you could get the very same thing
By looking at the skies.
Iâ€™m a tiny bead of glitter,
Stuck upon a card.
Or stuck upon your face or palm –
Removing me is hard.
Because Iâ€™m manufactured from plastic,
I never really go away.
Iâ€™ll still be ruining land and poisoning fish
A thousand years from today.
Iâ€™m a cutesy envelope,
At the post office.
Soon Iâ€™ll be delivered
To someone you miss.
This caring annual ritual
Is aimed at friends worldwide
But why does the address include more words
Than you wrote inside?
Iâ€™m the spectre of Christmas,
Sitting on your back.
Iâ€™m the reverse of Santa Claus
Carrying his sack.
I weigh you down with expectation
And demand phony cheer
So you do daft things during each twelfth month
When you should love throughout the year.