Тени деревьев - Моргэн
текст песни

Silence by the quiet lake during the day,
Only grass and fox tracks,
Only in the twilight the darkness looks strange
And the harp sings by the water
By a quiet lake, heather and moss,
Ore glitters on stones,
And those who, as they believe, sailed away long ago,
They come here in the evening.

Good people, believe me
I don't lie to you
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
This is how the fire disappears in the snow,
So the wind blows rubbish,
Woe to the one who enters in the evening
In the shadow of the mountains...

And between people who have heard about
The place of the owners of the broken walls,
There was a man - I did not know him -
Named Morgan.
He did not laugh at the words of the old man,
And as if he did not believe in the story,
He drank and looked into the play of fire,
And something flickered at the bottom of his eyes.

Good people, believe me
I don't lie to you
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
This is how the fire disappears in the snow,
So the wind blows rubbish,
And so you disappear
Oh Morgan..

And there will be no one to tell
Where the road disappeared, leaving the path,
How silence is silent - that is, it is not,
As the trail dried up, turning into an obscure trail,
How wild rosemary intoxicates with sweet wine
And deafening silent thunder
Great destinies and pure legends
In a silver blue sky.

Good people, believe me
I don't lie to you
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
Woe if the night grass
touches his knees,
You won't come back, oh poor
Morgan...

Do you hear how the echo was pricking in the mountains -
Swarm, disorganized seven times,
And the ghostly world embroiders a flute
Through the air with a thin needle.
Blue lights blazed in the water,
The chest was cut, and there was no strength.
One of those who came bent over him,
And sure enough, he asked...

Good people, believe me
I don't lie to you
Woe to the one who hears the rustle of the cloak,
Woe to the one who meets the eye
Lord of broken walls
You won't come home
Oh Morgan!

- Do not mortal lips touch the water
sacred springs of years,
Not for mortals to hear in the singing of stones:
"There is no death, no past!"
Look, O Morgan, at the smoke and the houses -
You leave them, forgetting everything
What I saw and knew before I left
Lost in the forest of gold...

Good people, believe me
I don't lie to you
Woe to all who come to the lake at night.
Stream maidens or heather warriors
They are taken prisoner
You are not the last one
Oh Morgan!