You're riding alone on a moonlit but starless night.

You just missed your exit, and now there's only one way back home.

So sit back, open your ears, and hold on tight,

because you're about to take a quick detour through Uncanny County.

Upon the high roof he arrived with a thump. He raced the chimney and down he did jump through the flu and a flash with a grin rather dark on this, the last Christmas on which it embark.

See, he once was the best, a renowned Christmas thief, instead of handing out gifts in ironic relief.

But they caught him to rights and they sentenced him good in a way that at first he had misunderstood.

Community service had ordered the judge, and all these years later he'd built quite a grudge.

That judge will be first on my list. He'll regret the day he made me Santa's marionette.

See, Santa had begun to slow down with his years, and he couldn't let Christmas fall into

arrears, with the help of the courts due to cost overruns, built an army of Santa's, of which

this was one.

But his sentence he'd served in this weird masquerade, and starting tomorrow, his debt would

be paid. The monitor worn around his ankle would go, and he'd served in this weird masquerade, and starting tomorrow, his debt would be paid.

The monitor worn round his ankle would go and he'd gladly return to his old status quo.

He'd steal through the night until well in the dawn, because who's going to hire an ungrateful ex-con?

With the powers he had now, he'd never be foiled, and the people would pay for the years he had toiled.

See, the powers they'd granted were meant to be loaned, but thanks to a loophole by him they'd be owned.

Through chimneys and keyholes, under doors and through cracks, stealing all he could carry his post-Santa tax.

Then out, whence he came in, t'would be quite a sight, not that anyone

to see him move faster than light. From rooftop to rooftop, then off to some beach, or somewhere

else pleasant and quite out of reach. He'd drink the best drinks with their tiny umbrellas set

...