Futuristic Chrismalistic

We will never know what it is they did
Three hundred years simply disappeared
They put everything on to computers
Now there’s no way for us to turn them on

We will wonder what they did each year
Myths of Christmas, the fat man and baby boy
Strange food, old songs, trees brought inside the house
It’s hard to imagine now that we live underground

We have nothing in this bunker
Hold on though we have each other
There’s no singing underground
Hold on let’s make joyful sounds
Lamps are cold and often flicker
Hold my hand we’ll light each other
Hope is stolen home is nowhere
Hold on though our love is stronger