Музыкана peoples.ru

 Skyclad SkycladБританская фолк-метал-группа,

On With Their Heads!


Now the final curtain's fallen,

for no show goes on forever,

if the world's a stage - mine's empty.

whilst upon it you'll tread never.

As the instruments lie silent in their coffins made of wood,

I rest assured they'd say these words - If say these words they could;

Whatever happened to the songs - the music that we made,

and the joy we shared together as on me your fingers played?

Are chose symphonies forgotten - with our cases closed and latched'?

Dreams now dusty, old and rotten - empty shells (no strings attached).

Amidst the dying candle-light,

I sit forlorn, alone,

a space once filled with laughter bright,

the place my heart called home

Now the puppets are my company - but wood and straw can't speak;

though it by chance they came to life I'm certain they would weep; "

"What am I without your tender touch -

the hands to hold and guide me,

what purpose has a puppet with no puppeteer beside me?

I do not care I have no hair - my painted face is scratched.

but fear my wooden heart will shatter with no stings attached.

No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard,

a dearth of bloom upon my tomb - an absence of forget-me-nots.

For Romeo I understudied - this sepulchre dark and bloodied,

It's my final resting place - amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props.

Your kiss turns princes into frogs - and passion-plays to monologues.

Now last and least - the minstrel-takes his bow upon the stage,

he's played a fool and played the prince- (but never acts his age).

And If for once not lost for words - l wonder what he d say,

to win fair maiden, slay the dragon, keep dread foe at bay?

"Though I am not a wealthy man - my heart is pure and true,

and the only riches that I have - the love I feel for you.

Now my life is robbed of meaning

Iike a purse of hope that's snatched.

Must I spend my whole time dreaming -

living life no strings attached?"

No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard,

a dearth of bloom upon my tomb - an absence of forget-me-nots.

For Romeo I understudied - this sepulchre dark and bloodied,

It's my final resting place - amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props.

Your kiss turns princes into frogs - and passion-plays to monologues

Skyclad

On With Their Heads! / Skyclad

Добавьте свою новость

Здесь