The Bard : Listen, my fellow wanderers, The nightmarish story of mine. A telling of doom, the spell of a curse That made from me a harald of death.
Far from here, in the deepest forest, I found this flute unholy and vile Haunted by a thousand souls with no rest. The instrument took control of my hands.
Forced to bring the scourge in the land, In peaceful towns as on the battlefield, I saw brothers, elders and friends Shed their blood, mangle their flesh.
The malison I found in the woods, The oaken tool of a vengeance of yore Possessed my will by its bewitching tone But left my mind free to witness my deeds.
Tomorrow, for good, my friends I'll make my final way. I'll flee from this land with my burden in hands And exile the curse away!
Sadly I'll leave the country I love. As a martyr I will cross the roads and the sees Before they blame me for the evil that scourges the land And who would perish by the flames!
Why has my fate turned so black? Why was I choosen to bear this curse? How I wish I could free my mind And live in peace forevermore...
With despair and madness to guide my way, I must now preserve the realm from the spell Cast by an evil servant of hell. This bloodbath is my duty to end.
Tomorrow, for good, my friends I'll make my final way. I'll flee from this land with my burden in hands And exile the curse away!
So my brave fellow wanderers, Fall asleep, the night will be cold. When you'll wake up with the rays of the sun, I will be forever gone.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
