'Twas the night before Christmas in July, when all through the PYC house

Not an object was stirring, not even Lord Mouse

The roles were given by the Owoners with care,

In hopes that St. Metzger soon would be there;

The chat had dababies, all fun and not mean

While visions of Urkle the dope elf danced on their screen;

And Mamma Pia in her 'kerchief, and Daddy Yankee in his cap,

Had just settled down as Ray gave everyone pats,

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

They sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, they flew like their dababy driver,

Tore open the shutters and tossed up dear Ash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to their wondering eyes are then blessed,

But a miniature Ray-sleigh, and eight friendly pests,

With a little old driver, so lively like a jet,

They knew in a moment it must be St. Met.

More rapid than Lord Hawk, his riders they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Astrall! now, Hat! now, Fridge and Pickle!

On, RemTen! on Kerd! on Yajwac and Lilith!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild animals and Rain fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the pests they flew,

With the sleigh full of AJR merch, and St. Metzger too.

And then, in a Twinkle, they heard over head

The whispers and teasing of each little friend.

As they drew in their hands, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Metzger came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of merch he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old father,

And they smiled when they saw him, in spite of their laughter;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave them to know the cult had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all their DM’s with gifts; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, way up, way up the chimney he goes;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team shouted “Bang!”,

And away the pests all flew, cause they couldnt come hang.

But they heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

“MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!

YOU’RE NOT DEAD YET, SO I GUESS YOU’LL BE ALRIGHT!”

And so the merry cult partied, as they celebrated through the eve,

Playing games, telling stories, they didn’t want to leave.

From America to Australia, from each corner of the land,

Together, they became close friends, united by one band.

And so as I finish this tale, (yes we’ve reached the final part),

Please know that I am so grateful to be here, and hold you close to my heart.

This cult is my home, I have no regrets,

Thank you all so much, love the handy phone, Tech.

And whenever you struggle, from life, friends or family,

Just know you have another, always here waiting,

The PYC.