When morning has broken and hidden the stars,
with dawn chasing darkness, and gaining,
from rice fields and hamlets I come with my song,
composed by the peasants, complaining.
Then quick as a deer
I then disappear,
with lute firmly gripped in my fingers.
You are the last person I´ve seen on my trip
I´ve entertained bishops and mayors.
I don´t beg rewards to be given to me
like those given poor strolling players.
Instead give your word
that my plea is heard,
And swords will be turned into ploughshares.
I see how your people have suffered enough
I´ve sung there, between detonations.
With war at it´s height, it was terribly tough
to try to revive their elation.
So they dispatched me
to humbly beg thee,
in song and with lute in my fingers.
Let me in the fortress and bind me in thongs
and feed me on hard bread and water.
For despots can punish a minstrel for songs,
who´s led like a lamb to the slaughter.
Then hang me up high,
but please don´t deny
to leave me my lute in my fingers.
When evening approaches and darkness draws nigh
the ghostly moon lights up the fences.
My singing will cease as I gaze at the sky
and hope that my song recompenses.
Then quick as a deer
I then disappear
to freedom, with lute in my fingers.
with dawn chasing darkness, and gaining,
from rice fields and hamlets I come with my song,
composed by the peasants, complaining.
Then quick as a deer
I then disappear,
with lute firmly gripped in my fingers.
You are the last person I´ve seen on my trip
I´ve entertained bishops and mayors.
I don´t beg rewards to be given to me
like those given poor strolling players.
Instead give your word
that my plea is heard,
And swords will be turned into ploughshares.
I see how your people have suffered enough
I´ve sung there, between detonations.
With war at it´s height, it was terribly tough
to try to revive their elation.
So they dispatched me
to humbly beg thee,
in song and with lute in my fingers.
Let me in the fortress and bind me in thongs
and feed me on hard bread and water.
For despots can punish a minstrel for songs,
who´s led like a lamb to the slaughter.
Then hang me up high,
but please don´t deny
to leave me my lute in my fingers.
When evening approaches and darkness draws nigh
the ghostly moon lights up the fences.
My singing will cease as I gaze at the sky
and hope that my song recompenses.
Then quick as a deer
I then disappear
to freedom, with lute in my fingers.
envoyé par mats paulson - 10/3/2011 - 16:51
Fine song, Mats. . It sounds like clarion.. and I'm still pretty sleepy..
giorgio - 11/3/2011 - 08:49
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Vocal and guitar: Mats Paulson
Music: Mats Paulson
Lyrics: Mats Paulson/Philip K Nelson
©1989 Barfotaförlaget Sweden