Twas the night before Christmas and, no hold on wait,
It's not time for Christmas I'm far too late!
So it's the middle of summer and the rain's pouring down,
Our hero's are sitting, but look there's a frown!
And instead of on Vincent it's on Cloud's face,
A wrinkle of anger. Of happy? No trace,
Apparently dear Sephy he awoke from the dead,
And onlookers could have sworn, well they said that he said,
"To Cloud I must go, dear Cloud who I miss!
It's time, I do think, for a mid summers kiss!"
And then, this is scary, apparently, so told,
He brushed against onlookers and his skin was still cold!
So Sephy, dear Sephy, who's cold to the bone,
Is now looking for our hero, the one and only clone.
So sat in a circle our hero's they sit,
Poor Cloud in a state of hysterical fit,
Red, Barret and Vincent, pretending to frown,
Just trying to keep smiles upside down,
For a laughter so deep, so mean and so rare,
Is hiding deep down, but do not despair,
For they love dear Cloud and, although they would laugh,
They'd rather not see him in Sephy's kiss path,
Jealousy? Friendship? Who really cares which?
Just so long as Cloud isn't Sephiroth's bitch,
But slowly, yes slowly for he is rather old,
Sephy's making his way to where it is told,
That the spiky haired Cloud hidden away he does live,
To go give that boy what he goes there to give,
So the tension lays firm as they sharpen their blades,
And the flicker of laughter from their faces does fade,
And a sound from behind, yes the snap of a twig,
Marks the occasion that something quite big,
Has entered the room, have you guessed yet who?
No your wrong, for it's Sephy not Winny the Pooh,
And there, on his lips, lays lip gloss of pink,
Which sparkles so pretty, makes you stop and think,
That actually he looks, in fact, like a girl,
With long silver hair that's just right for a curl,
But no time for that! For Barret's now up!
His gun arm aimed high and ready to cut,
As dust rises round the two as they fight,
(because that always happens, well it just might)
And as the dust settles, oh no, for it shows,
Poor Barret is lying, a kiss mark on his nose,
And Sephy's applying now more of the gloss,
Moving his way to Vincent who's cross,
His cape flying deadly, his face set on kill,
Once more rise the dust, to win but who will?
The bang of a gun, smack of some lips,
Poor Vincent, again, a kiss on his tips,
No time for re-glossing, for here comes Red!
But it's too late already, he's a kiss on the head!
Leaves Cloud alone, afraid and most scared,
As he cowers to the wall, nowhere near prepared,
Slowly Sephy he nears, now re-glossified,
And smacks up his lips with a look of sheer pride,
Slowly prising Cloud's head he closes his eyes,
And nears those lips that he saw when he died,
As Cloud squeaks "Oh No!" and struggles to free,
The door bursts open, in comes Tifa for tea,
But Sephy! What's this? She pulls him away,
And looking in horror she see's his dismay,
He won't kiss a girl, he won't, so he's sad
He can't beat this girl, Cloud's kiss is not had,
And lowering his eyes out rolls a lone tear,
As Tifa raises her knee and performs one last fear,
SMACK, in the groins, she grins as he falls,
And sigh's at the fact that Cloud's got no balls,
So Sephy he lost, once and for all,
From Cloud no kiss, he's not going to the ball,
As for Red, Vin and Barret, well they are all fine,
They recovered, eventually, from Sephy's mean crime,
And Cloud, well he lies awake every night,
Thinking of how he escaped a great fright,
But deep in his dreams a fantasy hides,
Where Sephy became his loveable bride