[Intro] Dear Santa, this year my wish list is simple: less panic, more sleep, one miracle on direct debit… and if you absolutely must, fine. One pair of socks. Not twelve. [Verse 1] I used to ask for magic, dragons in the sky, now I’m googling “therapy” and “how to not cry”. Wrote you a grown-up letter, tried to keep it light, “Could I get a working brain and eight full hours at night?” Asked for less exhaustion, one day without stress, a pause on all the emails marked “urgent” more or less. Underlined “no pressure”, drew a little star, added, “If you fix my burnout, you’ll still be Santa by far.” [Pre-Chorus] I poured my heart in bullet points, clicked “save” on my regrets, signed it “yours sincerely, the most tired you’ve ever met”. [Chorus] Santa, this really socks, I’m so sock of this. I asked you for a break, you sent argyle bliss. Every year the box, same woollen plot twist. Santa, this really socks, how did we end up like this? [Post-Chorus – hook] S-O-C-K-S, that’s how you spell “you did your best”. S-O-C-K-S, my midlife crisis, well-dressed. [Verse 2] This year I wrote, “Dear Santa, could you clear my mind, help me stop comparing to lives I’ll never find? Maybe wipe my browser of the doom-scroll at 3 a.m., teach me how to love my body, not keep hiding it from them.” I asked for one good dinner where no one checks their phone, for parents who remember they’re not managing alone. I circled “less performing” with a bright red pen, and under “what I do not need” I wrote: “socks again.” [Pre-Chorus 2] You must have skimmed the document, or lost page 2 in flight, ’cause all that landed by my tree was something soft and… slightly tight. [Chorus] Santa, this really socks, I’m so sock of this. I ordered peace of mind, you shipped cotton pessimism. Every year the box, same knitted plot twist. Santa, this really socks, how did we end up like this? [Bridge] All I really wanted was a quiet in my head, a rented little inner space where thoughts don’t scream in red. A bill that doesn’t scare me, a mirror that’s my friend, one December evening where I don’t pretend. You can keep the gift wrap, you can keep the bow, I’ll trade twelve pairs of reindeer socks for learning how to slow. If you can’t fix the planet, can’t repair my 9-to-5, at least send one small reason to be glad I’m still alive. [Breakdown – chant] Socks in blue, socks in white, stacked like “you’ll be fine” at night. Socks in red, socks in green, cover what we’ve never seen. Socks for joy, socks for pain, same old story, different chain. If this is care, if this is bliss, why does all of it still… socks like this? [Final Chorus] Santa, this really socks, I’m so sock of this. I wrote you, “less anxiety,” you sent “festive polyester bliss”. Every year the box, same warm eclipse. But I’ll wear them through the winter, ’cause I still believe in gifts. Santa, this really socks, yet here’s the hidden twist: all I really wanted was a reason to exist. If you read between the rows of toes, past all this wool and wit, you’ll see a tired grown-up whisper: “thanks for keeping me in it.” [Outro] Fine. I’ll keep the socks. Next year, though… read the footnotes, Santa.
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