[Intro – spoken, dry, almost deadpan] This is not a Hallmark movie. This is you, me, dishes in the sink, three mental breakdowns and a string of fairy lights that die in the middle of the wall. Merry… whatever. Hit play. [Verse 1] You wake up to a to-do list longer than the year, kids are screaming carols right into your ear. Someone drank the last coffee, no milk, no plan, you’re one step away from losing it on your fam. You check your phone, ten group chats on fire, “Who brings what?” and “Can we come a bit earlier?” Your eye starts twitching like a faulty star, you’d call it pure dis– but let’s name it “holiday sparkle” so far. [Pre-Chorus] And I know what you want to say out loud, four-letter prayers for this jolly crowd. But we’re classy gremlins in our Sunday best, so we swallow the word and call it “seasonal stress”. [Chorus] We’re so close to calling it a mess, but we dress it up and name it “blessed”. You and me, one breath from saying “I’m do—” then we raise a glass and call it “me and you”. Every nerve is hanging by a string of lights, we could say “to hell”, but we say “goodnight”. If this is chaos, then let it be this: Merry freaking… cocoa-flavoured Christmas. [Verse 2] You burn the first batch, second one’s half raw, someone brings a gluten-free, sugar-free, joy-free cake to the door. Your aunt takes one look and reloads her tone, “Have you… gained a little comfort since I last came home?” The cat climbs the tree like a tiny drunk elf, glass on the floor, you’re bargaining with yourself. You line up in your head every perfect sh– but on your lips it turns into “more biscuits, kids”. [Pre-Chorus 2] Yeah, we know what’s itching on the tongue, ancient magic word that starts with F and rhymes with “luck”. But we’re professional clowns in knitted sleeves, so we bite it back and call it “warm family evenings”. [Chorus] We’re so close to calling it a mess, but we dress it up and name it “blessed”. You and me, one breath from saying “I’m thro–” then we laugh too loud and drown it in snow. Every nerve is hanging by a string of lights, we could say “to hell”, but we say “goodnight”. If this is chaos, then let it be this: Merry freaking… cinnamon-dusted Christmas. [Bridge] Tell me, are you tired too, of picture-perfect plastic views? We’re knee-deep in wrapping, overdue rent, praying to the gods of “discount 20 percent”. You drag the word up, full bullsh— on your lips, then I squeeze your hand in this crowded place. We downgrade “disaster”, upgrade “bliss”, rename this whole circus “one more hug like this”. [Breakdown – chant] One more breakdown, one more smile, call it “cozy” all the while. One more near-swear in my head, call it “gingerbread instead”. One more “I can’t do this, I’m do—” turns to “move the chair, I’ll sit by you”. If this is madness, let it stay, we’ll rebrand hell as “holiday”. [Final Chorus] We’re so close to calling it a mess, but we dress it up and name it “blessed”. You and me, red-eyed, half-alive, still clinking cups like “we survived”. Every nerve is hanging by a string of lights, we could say “to hell”, but we say “goodnight”. If this is chaos, then print it on a mug: “Merry freaking Christmas, now give me a hug.” [Outro – spoken] No angels, no filters, just us, burnt cookies, loud kids, tired eyes. Call it what you want. Tonight we call it… “worth it”.
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