'Twas the night before Christmas and all through her house, Not a program was running, not an email or browse, For Vanilla as tired, too mindless to care, Because she knew Santa wouldn't answer here prayer.
Her stories were nestled all snug on a disk, And visions of clones drover plain round the twist, When out in a garden there rose such a clatter, That she ran to the back door crying 'what is the matter?'
What wondrous sights to her eyes did appear, 'Good Lord! Golden Earring! What are they doing here?' More melodious than angels, George sang and he strummed, And the whole road was roused by Cesar playing drums,
While Rinus worked wonders on double-necked bass, And Barry seemed tireless as he sang and he paced Up and down on the snow-covered grass - Santa had granted the prayers Vanilla had asked!
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head, Told Vanilla he'd brought them to her on his sled, But he spoke not a word, ice on his beard glistened, As silent, enraptured, Vanilla just listen.
They chose for their playlist her favourite tunes, They played, lit only by the pale Christmas moon, Played Mission Impossible and Hold Me Now, And Radar Love as an encore before taking their bows.
Then they packed up their instruments into the sled, Where Santa was beckoning with a shake of his head, That the concert was over and the gift had been given, But now it was time to launch into the heavens.
The reindeer took off, rose up into the sky, And Vanilla wiped tears of joy from her eyes, Just as the sled vanished into the dawn mist, The musicians looked back and each blew her a kiss.
Back in bed, Vanilla dreamt of drums and guitars, And wild Earring concerts on the cold moonlit grass, Next morning she stared out as the sun palely glowed, And saw sled tracks and footprints pressed into the snow...
...And under her tree lay a pair of drumsticks, An autographed CD and George's guitar pick, And no matter how sweetly the herald angels sing, No angel sings sweeter than dear Golden Earring!
