Hammer and Axe.

I see those lights in those houses,
Warm with the fire within,
I have no home of my own,
To find pleasure is a sin.

I look into my own room,
Where the lights are always still,
No presents this year for me,
My conscience tells me to kill.

Some of those fortunate,
Never realize some are alone,
We are not contortionists,
Our memories of broken stone.