| Song | Lilja's Lament |
| Artist | Indica |
| Album | A Way Away |
| Strolling under harbor lights, Lilja reads a line | |
| ‘Poor Tatiana’ | |
| In another library, Rochester arrives | |
| Oh lord, he’s half-blind | |
| Lancelot and Guinevere came nowhere near the pier | |
| No love this year | |
| Marian called Robin Hood to save her from the sea | |
| But words are cheap | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| And Lilja heard but wonder’s thunder | |
| All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head | |
| Her tragic flaw was not a blunder | |
| Percival got drunk and tossed his cup into the snow | |
| Where’d the grail go? | |
| Catherine found her Heathcliff but the Brontes died alone | |
| Air gets so cold | |
| Wind revives the balladeers sentenced to their words | |
| Fog means return | |
| For the bards and troubadours, sentences are worlds | |
| We long but don’t learn | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| And Lilja heard but wonder’s thunder | |
| All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head | |
| Her tragic flaw was not a blunder | |
| Teeter totter by the harbor, Lilja looked up saw a starfish | |
| Holding her hand was Ophelia, | |
| Smith, Elliot; Plath, Sylvia | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| But Lilja lived her blunder thunder | |
| All the books she read put her to rest on a seabed | |
| Her tragic flaw still makes me wonder | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| But Lilja lived her blunder thunder | |
| All the books she read put her to rest on a seabed | |
| Her tragic flaw still makes me wonder | |
| lalala laaa lalala lalaalaa lalalalalalaaa lalalalalaalaa laa laa laa |
| Strolling under harbor lights, Lilja reads a line | |
| ' Poor Tatiana' | |
| In another library, Rochester arrives | |
| Oh lord, he' s halfblind | |
| Lancelot and Guinevere came nowhere near the pier | |
| No love this year | |
| Marian called Robin Hood to save her from the sea | |
| But words are cheap | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| And Lilja heard but wonder' s thunder | |
| All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head | |
| Her tragic flaw was not a blunder | |
| Percival got drunk and tossed his cup into the snow | |
| Where' d the grail go? | |
| Catherine found her Heathcliff but the Brontes died alone | |
| Air gets so cold | |
| Wind revives the balladeers sentenced to their words | |
| Fog means return | |
| For the bards and troubadours, sentences are worlds | |
| We long but don' t learn | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| And Lilja heard but wonder' s thunder | |
| All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head | |
| Her tragic flaw was not a blunder | |
| Teeter totter by the harbor, Lilja looked up saw a starfish | |
| Holding her hand was Ophelia, | |
| Smith, Elliot Plath, Sylvia | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| But Lilja lived her blunder thunder | |
| All the books she read put her to rest on a seabed | |
| Her tragic flaw still makes me wonder | |
| Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done | |
| But Lilja lived her blunder thunder | |
| All the books she read put her to rest on a seabed | |
| Her tragic flaw still makes me wonder | |
| lalala laaa lalala lalaalaa lalalalalalaaa lalalalalaalaa laa laa laa |