Thy pardon, Father, I beseech, In this my prayer if I offend; One something sees beyond his reach From childhood to his journey's end. My wife, our little boy Aignan, Have travelled even to Narbonne; My grandchild has seen Perpignan; And I - have not seen Carcassonne.

The vicar's right; he says that we Are ever wayward, weak and blind; He tells us in his homily Ambition ruins all mankind;

They tell me every day is there Not more nor less than Sunday gay; In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle…

Yet could I these two days have spent, While still the autumn sweetly shone, Ah, me! I might have died content When I had looked on Carcassonne.

It's strange that those we miss the most Are those we take for granted.

Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home.

First, I wanna say 'Peace to my mother. She's not here but I gotta give a 'peace out' to her because I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my mother.