amelie, bamelie, zamelie, doo
I ask, what has become, of you?
you used to run around, everywhere
a noisy puff, with auburn hair
now I but listen for you, far away
looking forward, to that day
where we will meet, upon this earth
and once again, share candid mirth
at butterflies, stars, moons and bees
and water droplets on morning leaves
oh, amelie, sweet boisterous child of mine,
stop the record - we'll meet, in time.
