Tidings of Discomfort, No Joy

"Dangerous Dan on the air tonight"

"Storm rolling in — lock your doors tight"

Locked basement, holy ground

Buried sins still make a sound

Bloody specter in a nun’s disguise

Wants a birth or someone dies

Cut to woods on Christmas Eve

A child comes back — but not believed

Pulled from bark but wrong inside

Something stolen — something lies

What was hidden claws its way out

Old rules answer broken vows

From convent stone to forest floor

You don’t get back what you had before

Tidings of horror — tidings of gore

A mother scorned still hunts for more

Tidings of horror — tidings of cost

One child comes home — another is lost

Different doors — same yuletide thread

Every path still ends in red

Old woman smiles — pours the fear

Punishment comes every year

Wooden saints and broken sins

Confess your past—he’s still let in

Cut to red beneath the snow

Workshop hums, then pulses slow

Elves go quiet — eyes won’t track

Something snapped and won’t go back

You can pray, you can beg, you can hide

But the rules don’t bend on Christmas night

Infection spreads from one to all

Santa slashes his elves before they fall

Tidings of horror — tidings of fear

Something with horns is already here

Tidings of horror — tidings of rot

The workshop laughs — then drops dead on the spot

Different doors — same yuletide thread

Every path still ends in red

NOT A WORKSHOP

NOT THE NORTH

SHOPPING BAGS AND BODIES ON THE FLOOR

MALL SANTA

SOAKED IN RED

PSYCHOTIC BREAK, AXES EVERYONE DEAD

Tidings of horror — tidings of lies

Nothing holy in their eyes

Tidings of horror — tidings of blame

Every myth sounds the same

Different tales on Christmas night

Different sins under the lights

Change the mask — keep the thread

Every story ends in dead