Still blowing smoke with their lies, they come
The Far Right wing runs their world
Until their 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

It came upon the midnight clear, 
That glorious song of old, 
From angels bending near the earth 
To touch their harps of gold: 
"Peace on the earth, good will to men, 
From heaven's all-gracious King." 
The world in solemn stillness lay 
To hear the angels sing. 

Still through the cloven skies they come 
With peaceful wings unfurled, 
And still their heavenly music floats 
O'er all the weary world; 
Above its sad and lowly plains 
They bend on hovering wing, 
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds 
The blessed angels sing. 

Yet with the woes of sin and strife 
The world has suffered long; 
Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled 
Two thousand years of wrong; 
And man, at war with man, hears not 
The tidings which they bring; 
O hush the noise, ye men of strife, 
And hear the angels sing! 

O ye, beneath life's crushing load, 
Whose forms are bending low, 
Who toil along the climbing way 
With painful steps and slow, 
Look now! for glad and golden hours 
Come swiftly on the wing; 
O rest beside the weary road 
And hear the angels sing! 

For lo! the days are hastening on, 
By prophets seen of old, 
When with the ever-circling years 
Shall come the time foretold, 
When peace shall over all the earth 
Its ancient splendors fling, 
And the whole world give back the song 
Which now the angels sing.