[Intro] “Gift limit?” There is no limit. Just 24% interest and a notification later. [Verse 1] Trolley full of “must-have” joy, sale tags screaming red, buying love in plastic form for every hand and head. “Buy now, pay in four” sounds softer than “you’re broke”, wrapping paper on a bomb, tied up in a bow and joke. Kids say, “Mom, will Santa know if I change my list tonight?” I say, “Sure, he checks his email,” while my chest gets kind of tight. I tap my card on every hope like that’s how care is proved, every “yes” a little “no” to future me I just outvoted and removed. [Pre-Chorus] Fairy lights in every street, overdraft beneath my feet. [Chorus] Christmas on the credit card, lights are bright but times are hard. Deck the halls with debt and worry, swipe now, cry in January. Fill the cart with “we’ll be fine,” wrap it up and cross the line. Deck the halls with debt and worry, swipe now, cry in January. [Verse 2] Office Secret Santa game, limit set at ten, someone “jokes” and breaks the cap, I match it yet again. Scrolling through the “perfect home” in adverts on my feed, every click says “treat your family,” nothing says “you’ll bleed.” Grandma asks, “What happened to just oranges and nuts?” we laugh and change the subject like it’s past and we’re deluxe. There’s a letter on the table from the bank I will not read, I just tuck it under tinsel like it’s not a warning, just a weed. [Pre-Chorus 2] Choirs sing of peace and light, my account screams “not tonight.” [Chorus] Christmas on the credit card, lights are bright but times are hard. Deck the halls with debt and worry, swipe now, cry in January. Fill the cart with “they deserve,” never mind the twisted nerve. Deck the halls with debt and worry, swipe now, cry in January. [Bridge] There’s a kid who wants a moment, not a limited-ed run, just a parent off their phone and twenty minutes being done. There’s a soul that wants forgiveness more than VR second skins, but forgiveness’s not on sale, so we keep buying cheaper sins. We say “next year we’ll do smaller,” every year we say the same, stacking boxes like a fortress round the part that holds the shame. All these “little monthly payments” like a choir under the song, singing softly, “you were trying,” and also, “this is wrong.” [Breakdown] Tap, approve, delay the pain, January, here again. “Only twenty easy fees,” hope you like anxiety. Gift-wrapped fear in red and gold, stories we were always told: “If you love them, you will pay.” No one says who pays in May. [Final Chorus] Christmas off the credit card, turning down feels twice as hard. Decked these halls in debt and worry, swiped all year, cried every January. But tonight I drop one thing, leave it back there on the ring. Cancel one more “needed” glory, keep the kid and skip the story. Christmas without perfect score, less on card and maybe more. If I choose one bill to fight, let it be this lie tonight: That love is in the barcode flash and not in who stays when we crash. [Outro] I’ll still wrap what I can. But I’m not selling my January to impress a December that can’t remember my name.
