The City of Charn is Dying, Mike.

It's always winter, never Christmas.
Jadis, the white witch, freezes Tumnus
after she coldcocks Rumblebuffin.

Mike hasn't heard a word I said,
but for the cartoon names, of course,
who look like his friends on Looney Tunes
he mentions to his rocking horse.

It's a picture postcard Christmas
outside while in our cartoon show,
as some scary music plays,
Aslan's doing a quid pro quo

on behalf of Edmund Pevensie,
not much older than you are, Mike,
all because Jadis, queen of Narnia,
lured Eddie with her Turkish Delight.

The beavers are silent, so is the faun
when Mike, having crossed the Rubicon
from Digory's wardrobe so to speak,
soon will see death on an altar stone.

"Change the channel!" your mother shouts
from the kitchen before the commercial
for something all little boys must have
under the tree to be someone special,

but let's rejoin our scheduled program
as the good guys win the insurrection.
You rock with joy on your rocking horse,
having forgotten the vivisection.

After all, Mike, 'tis the season
for every good little girl and boy
growing up in our age of reason
when resurrection's a Christmas toy,

Aslan, your very own action hero
doll with a pull-string baritone voice
now at major retail stores.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!