Number 3

It is freezing in this counting house.

Just the way I like it. (humbug)

My clerk sniffs in the biting chill,

Reaching his pale hands for the grate.

Put back that coal,

damn thee, be still!

Wear your thin coat and meet your fate.

Back to work, clerk—not another scrap!

They say "Merry Christmas,

Mr.

Scrooge!" Bah!

Humbug!

Fools on their knees who beg and plead,

Befriending me only in their greed.

I would rather retire

to Bedlam's wall

Than hear good cheer

or pity at all!

(bah

humbug!)

The frost clings thick upon the stone,

As I walk the cobbled streets alone.

A creeping dread upon my back— A chilling presence on my track.

What stalks behind my heavy door?

What seeks my vault,

my gold,

my floor?

Does a phantom crave my hoarded coin?

What spectral curse

comes to adjoin? Leave me be,

cold creeping shade!

Every farthing here was strictly

made!

Sing "Merry Christmas, Mr.

Scrooge!"

Bah!

Humbug! Let the whole world wail and plead,

Gold is the only truth I need!

Take your ghosts and empty cheer—

No phantom buys my silence here!

Bah... Humbug...