Dear Sir,

First of all, I’d like to thank you for writing this song, and in doing so ensuring that there would be five different Christmas songs instead of four for artists to perform thousands of different cover versions of and my local radio station to play over and over again until I finally march down to the nearest sporting goods store to inquire whether I have to buy the whole box of bullets or what because really dude just need the one.

But I digress.

Anyway, I’ve recently trained my brain to shut down during the first couple notes of the song in an effort to never have to hear the line, “Said the night wind to the little lamb”. Despite this, sometimes it comes on while I happen to be driving, and one of the passengers in my car freaks out when the car veers off the road and screams loud enough to make me regain consciousness in time to hear my favorite* line:

“A child, a child, shivers in the cold, let us bring him silver and gold.”

Which brings me to my main point:

Silver and gold?

Really?

Sure, because precious metals would be MUCH better to give to a shivering baby Son of God than BLANKETS.

Anyway, Wikipedia tells me that you died a few years ago, so I’ll end this letter as I have more pressing issues** to deal with anyway. Thank you for your time, which I suppose you have a lot of now, what with you having bought the ol’ pine box farm. Pushing up radishes? I’m not up on my euphemisms but you catch my drift.

Sincerely,

Rob

*Not really my favorite. Nothing about this song is my favorite.

**A giant boulder. It’s pressing on my lungs.