Текст песни Тени деревьев - Моргэн

At the quiet lake in the afternoon silence
Only grass and fox marks,
Only at dusk darkness looks strange
And the harp sings near the water,
At the quiet lake heather and moss,
Glitters on the stones ore,
And those who, as they believe, swam away long ago,
Come in the evening here.

Good people believe me
I do not lie to you -
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
So the fire disappears in the snow,
So the wind blows dirt,
Woe in the evening
In the shadow of the mountains ...

And between the people that heard about
The place of the owners of the destroyed walls,
There was a man - I did not know him -
With the name Morgan.
He did not laugh at the old man’s words
And as if he did not believe in the story,
He drank and looked into the play of fire,
And something glimmered at the bottom of his eyes.

Good people believe me
I do not lie to you -
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
So the fire disappears in the snow,
So the wind blows dirt,
So you will disappear,
Oh Morgan ..

And there will be no one to say about
Where the road disappeared, leaving the path,
How silence is silent - that is, that is, no,
As the trail dried up, turning into an unclear trail,
How dope a wild rosemary sweet wine
And stuns silent thunder
Great destinies and pure legends
In the sky silver blue.

Good people believe me
I do not lie to you -
Woe to him who comes to the lake at night.
Woe, if night grass
Will touch his knees
You will not come back, oh poor
Morgan ...

Do you hear how the echo pounded in the mountains -
Seven times a wild swarm
And the ghostly world embroiders a pipe
By air with a thin needle.
Blue lights glowed in the water,
Chest cut, and there was no strength.
One of those who came bent over him
And it is true that he asked something ...

Good people believe me
I do not lie to you -
Woe to him who hears the rustle of his cloak,
Woe to him who meets the gaze
Lord of the ruined walls,
You will not return home,
O Morgan!

- Do not mortal lips touch water
Sacred sources of years
Not mortal to hear in singing stones:
"There is no death, no past!"
Look, O Morgan, on the smoke and at home -
You throw them, forgetting everything
Tom, what he saw and knew before he left,
Lost in the forest of gold ...

Good people believe me
I do not lie to you -
Woe to everyone who comes to the lake at night.
Virgin creek or warrior heather
They are taken captive
You are not the last one
O Morgan!