They're all singing ''Joy to the world'', the lyrics don't describe the sadness I hold.
There's no guiding star, I've nothing to offer, no myrrh, frankincense or gold.
My heart is icy, my soul is snowy, but apart from that there is nothing Christmassy.
From now on, wretchedness will be the only present left underneath the tree.
The starry sky and the constellations seem unable to enlighten me.
I wish there were someone I could send a postcard to celebrate New Years' Day.
There won't be anyone I can sing carols with, when it snows; I'll have nowhere to play.
I will have no one to kiss me underneath the mistletoe, I am like a homeless dog, stray.
My soul is covered with frost; I'm dissatisfied although it should be otherwise.
There won't be luxurious ornaments for me, family dinners or a pleasant surprise.
I am forlorn, unwrapping presents I bought myself, I've been completely ostracised.
On New Year's Eve, I'd like to have people to toast with, is it not right to fantasise?
Santa Claus will feed his reindeers with the bits of my letter, I've been too naughty.
I may deserve to be lonesome; I've been mischievous, but I haven't been haughty.
These days my heart's freezing, I've been frozen out, one is such a lonely number.
This season is so despicable, like a bear, through the winter, I wish I could slumber.
All of them are dancing, snuggling and snogging under the mistletoe.
Everyone is smiley and vivacious, but I feel down, no matter where I go.
I go home, uncork a bottle of wine and pour it into my glass under the mistletoe.
Outdoors, people are chanting "Let it snow'', whereas I'm trying to let it go.
