Linux Songs Poems

Christmas time is here, by Golly;       Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens;
Disapproval would be folly;             Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens;
Deck the halls with hunks of holly;     Even though the prospect sickens,
Fill the cup and don't say when...      Brother, here we go again.

On Christmas day, you can't get sore;   Relations sparing no expense'll,
Your fellow man you must adore;         Send some useless old utensil,
There's time to rob him all the more,   Or a matching pen and pencil,
The other three hundred and sixty-four! Just the thing I need... how nice.

It doesn't matter how sincere           Hark The Herald-Tribune sings,
It is, nor how heartfelt the spirit;    Advertising wondrous things.
Sentiment will not endear it;           God Rest Ye Merry Merchants,
What's important is... the price.       May you make the Yuletide pay.
                                        Angels We Have Heard On High,
Let the raucous sleighbells jingle;     Tell us to go out and buy.
Hail our dear old friend, Kris Kringle, Sooooo...
Driving his reindeer across the sky,
Don't stand underneath when they fly by!
                -- Tom Lehrer

Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone;
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.

In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land.
                -- J. R. R. Tolkien

Come fill the cup and in the fire of spring
Your winter garment of repentence fling.
The bird of time has but a little way
To flutter -- and the bird is on the wing.
                -- Omar Khayyam

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and crystal brooks
With silken lines, and silver hooks.
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
If you would be my POSSLQ.

You live with me, and I with you,
And you will be my POSSLQ.
I'll be your friend and so much more;
That's what a POSSLQ is for.

And everything we will confess;
Yes, even to the IRS.
Some day on what we both may earn,
Perhaps we'll file a joint return.
You'll share my pad, my taxes, joint;
You'll share my life - up to a point!
And that you'll be so glad to do,
Because you'll be my POSSLQ.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.
                -- John Donne

Come on, Virginia, don't make me wait!
Catholic girls start much too late,
Ah, but sooner or later, it comes down to fate,
I might as well be the one.
Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray,
Built you a temple and locked you away,
Ah, but they never told you the price that you paid,
The things that you might have done.
So come on, Virginia, show me a sign,
Send up a signal, I'll throw you a line,
That stained glass curtain that you're hiding behind,
Never lets in the sun.
Darling, only the good die young!
                -- Billy Joel, "Only The Good Die Young"

Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone.
                -- Stanislaw Lem, "Cyberiad"

Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl until it does run over,
Tonight we will all merry be -- tomorrow we'll get sober.
                -- John Fletcher, "The Bloody Brother", II, 2

Come, let us hasten to a higher plane,
Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn,
Their indices bedecked from one to n,
Commingled in an endless Markov chain!
                -- Stanislaw Lem, "Cyberiad"

Come, muse, let us sing of rats!
                -- From a poem by James Grainger, 1721-1767