googled06bb313055e587a.html Rock N Roll Rehab for the Control Of Rock and Roll Starring Greg Piper and The Tooners: My Very Own Christmas Carol

My Very Own Christmas Carol

    I was thinking about all the great, and not so great, Christmas songs rock bands have put out over the years from The Beach Boys’ Little Saint Nick to Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s Father Christmas of which U2 just did a great remake. I thought my band, The Tooners, should have a Christmas song but not being a Christian, or any of the other well established religions, writing a birthday song to Jesus might seem at best insincere. I could write a Holiday song such as The Christmas Song or Jingle Bells but living in Southern California the imagery just isn’t very Christmassy and California based holiday songs always come off as Christmas song spoofs.
    I considered writing a Christmas song from the point of view of someone living in a different time period. Perhaps a Victorian Era carol or an Early American Christmas song. Then I thought that if I was going to go back in time why not go to a time period when Christmas REALLY meant something. Back when even celebrating Christmas could get you the death penalty. I wrote my Christmas song from the point of view of the original Christians, the ones living in Ancient Rome and who were persecuted for their beliefs. These were the people who proved with their actions, with laying down their very lives, that Christianity was something to be taken seriously.
    I hope my song doesn’t come off as anything less than a sincere attempt to honor those people who sacrificed so that we could live in a world today that openly and happily gets to celebrate Christmas. You may notice that Christmas itself doesn’t actually get mentioned in the song as it is a tradition that developed at a later time. Merry Christmas!

THE CATACOMB
Written by Neal Warner

Shsss, Quiet my brothers, while you’re down here.
There’s no need to worry, nothing to fear.
You’re among friends, you’re safe at home
Down here in the darkness of the catacomb.

Up in the light they hunt us like game
For infecting sick minds by spreading His name.
So they drive us below to finish writing the tome
By candlelight, in the catacomb.

They’ve all gone insane with liquor and lust.
They worship power and Caesar’s gold bust.
But cracks have been forming in their temple dome
That can even be seen from the catacomb.

Their golden age is beginning to rust
As any decaying thing turns to dust.
Some may meet again where lions roam
While the rest all meet here, in the catacomb.

I guess we can’t wait for our Savior's return
‘Cause a Centurion has knocked over the urn
That hides our entrance like the tomb by the stone
And will lead them to us, in the catacomb.

So we scatter like wheat upon the wind.
Next time we meet, we’ll grow strong and not bend.
And live through the ages, like an epic poem
We’re etched in the walls of the catacomb.

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