Who's that knocking on the window,nWho's that standing at the door,nWhat are all those presentsnLaying on the kitchen floor?nnWho is the smiling strangernWith hair as white as gin,nWhat is he doing with the childrennAnd who could have let him in?nnWhy has he rubies on his fingers,nA cold, cold crown on his head,nWhy, when he caws his carol,nDoes the salty snow run red?nnWhy does he ferry my firesidenAs a spider on a thread,nHis fingers made of fusesnAnd his tongue of gingerbread?nnWhy does the world before himnMelt in a million suns,nWhy do his yellow, yearning eyesnBurn like saffron buns?nnWatch where he comes walkingnOut of the Christmas flame,nDancing, double-talking:nnHerod is his name.