‘Twas the night before Christmas. A secret was looming. The lust in my heart had become too consuming. Make no mistake, no blood do we share, But my guardian was the man whose cross I did bear.
With his icy coal eyes, and peppermint lips, Under mistletoe I stood, no chance to resist. For it was on none other than this cold silent night, That I gave into wrong, and it felt so damn right.
