There is no doubt, the word is out! Disgruntled are his gnomes... They claim cold feet, too little heat in fact'ry and in homes.
In polar climes it's dark these times and ev'ry elf and troll is sad with S.A.D. distress, * demanding rays by "sol". *read "S.A.D" as ess aa dee
The cold wind roars at panes and doors as sealed against the gale and so each elf can smell himself, the air is just that stale.
Their union stands on its demands and Santa can't comply. So raise your wine to Old Lang Syne to yuletide say "goodbye".
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