Tonight’s the night he comes to get you, lad–
the Krampus, with his long and bright-red tongue.
You’ve been, as you’ll acknowledge now, quite bad.
Your deeds of evil have been widely sung.
The ladder you’ve descended rung by rung
was not a ladder to a secret lair
where scorpions would leave your ass unstung
and lamiae would coo and stroke your hair.
You’ve made your way to Hell, you brat! Repair
your fortunes? At this late date, not a chance!
For frightened pleas the Krampus doesn’t care.
He has you by your short and sassy pants.
In the brief laugh you heard, black serpents hissed.
He’s urinating on your Christmas list.