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We hold our white vestments close
and we shall don this shroud
of life and love and loss
In Gaul we stand proud

Skyward, our holy elders will climb
and reach the mark of the wild
This mistletoe on this oak
shall bring forth animal's child

This gift will render us divine
And cleanse our bodies of death
Our lips are moist with the wine
Of life and love and loss

We sing and dance and pray
The sixth moon will not sway
This stag will feed our kind
We sing and dance and cry

We hold our white vestments close
As we end this holy day

We sing and dance and pray
The sixth moon will not sway
This stag has fed our kind
We sung and danced and cried

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