It's snowing, 

On purpose?

Is the sky,

trying to fill up my emptiness?,

I'm freezin',

they're admirin',

this bless'ed Christmas treat,

cause everyone's got a home,

to retreat,

Guess it's better,

than blazing hot weather,

where these matches,

would add fuel to the fire,

Rapid clicks,

by high heeled wearers,

I've always wondered,

Why rich people are eager,

to purchase items,

that self-inflict torture,

If I had money,

I would buy a pair of fluffy boots,

a design similar to those jolly hopping girls,

arms intertwined, similar gaits, similar heights,

hopping joyously,

as their carriage-ridin' mother observes uneasily,

I guess they're going home,

since they're admirin' this Christmas treat,

and everyone's got a home,

to retreat,

yet I'm not allowed to go,

until my matches are all sold.