I feared I was the burning bush,
Yet I was not consumed,
I cried for a season, all of winter,
But now I am approved.
Pour the wine, and we shall feast,
Landlocked, in the land of east,
Once I ever saw the sea,
The waves are calling me.
I dwell on top, of a middle-class hill,
The pre-adult grand old duke of present,
I live here, not against my will,
Soon to leave the half-moon crescent.
My faith has been fully restored,
I have it now, and once before,
Crumbled by a draining whore,
Du bist nicht meine kleine schonheit.
Feeling very similar, to my solemn past,
Only the grandeur, built to last,
And only in the candlelight, have I truly realised,
I have postponed the real life, Verisimilitude.
Rosa plus a projectile weapon,
Lyrics informed of what should happen,
Now to swallow the paradisaical place,
Where the grass is green,
And the girls of grace.