O' Lille O' Lille

O’ Lille, O’ Lille

O’ Lille, O’Lille, suis-je maintemont,

Living among us, and every day we see,

The life of the lonesome,

Exhumed from home and fond of the roads undertone,

Delicate daisy, of finding a purpose,

Give us a chance to reconsider the remediate doctrine,

From the masterpiece of time,

Does this drear and dismal,

Encumber me entwine,

Lumber me a swine,

By eyes of the mouth,

The know nothing of intellect,

Or its saccharine.

O’ Lambersart, J’adore, O’ Lambersart,

Que-est-que ce à etre?

The life that grows out of us,

With no rules barred,

O’ he, who has time to say,

‘Take the drips of your wonder,

And compile them again’,

In the cool of the morning,

O’ petite fawns of tomorrow,

What is your story?

O’ vie, O’ vie,

How I envy the serpent,

The wielder of power, with weakness,

Crippling financial commitments,

And no way out of the cage.

Be gone, so now you are long sung,

In the hearts and minds of those believers,

Whom give man our misery,

And also, our idyllic redemption.

O’ meloria, O’ meloria,

Seeing the sounds good of reality,

Wiked in defeat, by numbers,

Of entrenched, ingenuity,

Moved beyond the morose, dis-temperate feign,

Masks and bodies alike,

From skin to sky, blood to goodbye,

Love to be, and strength to stay

Blessed am I, to be a member of these fine men,

Whom give unto eachother, themselves,

And in this way is there true community and family,

Void of redundancy.

O’ Lambersart, J’adore, O’ Lambersart,

Que-est-que ce à etre?