Carol for the apocalypse

As downcast as "Coventry Carol" and "In The Bleak Midwinter" are, no Christmas carol makes me think about my mortality more often than "Carol Of The Bells."  To give credit where it's due, the versions by Windham Hill artists and Swingle Singers are impressive.  When listening to any version of it, though, short of Guster's "Carol Of The Meows" rendition, I can't help picturing sands in an hourglass slipping away, the furnace exploding, and meteors wiping out huge swaths of Earth.  A dream I had years ago illustrates my discomfort with the carol; in the dream, I was trying to get to sleep in a hotel room, but someone kept singing "Carol Of The Bells" louder and louder outside the door while punching random selections on a soda machine.  To me, "Carol Of The Bells" is the Death Of A Salesman of Christmas carols.  I respect it but don't usually enjoy it much.