Two thousand nine has shed its days
and bids us all a fond farewell.
Before its mem'ries turn to haze,
I sing this year my kyrielle.

Each disappointment and reward,
each ladder climbed and place I fell,
for shattered dreams and dreams restored,
I sing this year my kyrielle.

For feelings spurned and thanks received,
for days when magic lost its spell
and all those times I still believed,
I sing this year my kyrielle.

Two thousand ten's a mystery,
for clearly we cannot foretell
what soon enough's our history.
I sing this year my kyrielle.