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Hot Buttered Rum
By Tommy Thompson
When chimney smoke hangs still and low
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Across the stubbled fields of snow
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And angry skies reach down to seize
The sorry, blackened bones of trees,
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In the dead of winter when the silent snowbirds come,
You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum.
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When dreary Christmas decorations
Line the streets and filling stations |
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And dime store Santas can't disguise
Their empty hands and empty eyes, |
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In the dead of winter when the tinsel angels come,
You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum. |
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When gloves and boots and woolen parkas
Bring cold comfort to the heart
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And bitter memories freeze the tongue
And songs of love are left unsung,
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In the dead of winter when those cold feelings come
You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum.
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