Twas the night before Christmas, which most had forgot,
And not an ork was stirring, not even a grot.

The spore mines were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that some guardsman fail to beware.

The Blood Angels were snuggled all tight in their beds,
While visions of Sanguinus danced in their heads;

And Eldrad in his kerchief, and Aun'shi in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When the perimeter alarms produced such a noise,
That I sprang from my foxhole to wake up the boys.

Away to the armory I ran like a shot,
To load up on all the weapons we'd got.

With bolter and flamer, I ran to observe,
What Dark Eldar pirate would dare have the nerve,

When I found, to my shock, invading our zone,
But the God-Emperor of Man on his Golden Throne,

It was pulled by eight giants, so pure and so sad,
That it must've been Primarchs towing their dad.

More rapid than jetbikes, the big fellas came,
And the Emperor whipped them, and called them by name,
"Now Rogal! Now Vulkan, Corax, and the Kahn!
On Magnus! On Fulgrim, Russ, and Mortarion!
Leap over the trenches, to the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

The primarchs they heaved, they pulled, and they hauled
Their pop's Golden Throne, and I was appalled,
That they managed to lift such a gigantic machine
To the top of our barracks without making a scene.

And then, in a moment, I heard overhead,
The setting of meltabombs, and thought I was dead.
But as I dove for cover behind a Carnifex's hoof.
Down came the Emperor through the hole in the roof.

He was dressed all in gold, from his head to his toe,
And around his head was an angelic glow;
A bundle of wargear he had brought in a sack,
And I thought for a moment that he meant to attack,
But instead he unloaded his bag full of stuff,
And gave each of us something to make us more tough.

There was a lasgun for me and powerklaws for the nobs,
And shuriken pistols for those Eldar snobs;
The 'stealers got rending, the harlies got kisses,
The XV8s, twin-linking, to cut down on misses,
The Tyranids got new carapace layers,
And a brand new chainaxe for Kharn the Betrayer.
There were flamers for guardsmen and meltas for Dragons,
And bolt-on big shootas for battlewagons.
The Immortals smiled at their new gauss-blasters,
The Speed Freaks, red paint, to they could go faster.

And when all of the wargear had been handed out,
The Emperor leapt to the roof with a shout.
He sprang to his throne, and his boys sprung to work
And away he went with a sudden jerk

But I heard him exclaim while away he did soar,
"The Future is Grim, and there is only War!"

Merry Christmas, everybody!