Paroles: Dead Can Dance. Otras Canciones. The Song Of Amergin.
:
Am gaeth i m-muir
Am tond trethan
Am fuaim mara
Am dam secht ndirend
Am seig i n-aill
Am der grene
Am cain lubai
Am torc ar gail
Am he i l-lind
Am loch i m-maig
Am bri a ndai
Am gai i fodb fras feochtu
Am de delbas do chind codnu
Coiche nod gleith clochur slebe
Cia on co tagair aesa escai
Cia du i l-laig fuiniud grene
Cia beir buar o thig tethrach
Cia buar tethrach tibi
Cia dam, cia de delbas faebru a ndind ailsiu
Cainte im gai, cainte gaithe
I am the wind on the sea
I am the stormy wave
I am the sound of the ocean
I am the bull with seven horns
I am the hawk on the cliff face
I am the sun's tear
I am the beautiful flower
I am the boar on the rampage
I am the salmon in the pool
I am the lake on the plain
I am the defiant word
I am the spear charging into battle
I am the god who put fire in your head
Who made the trails through stone mountains
Who knows the age of the moon
Who knows where the setting sun rests
Who took the cattle from the house of the warcrow
Who pleases the warcrow's cattle
What bull, what god created the mountain skyline
The cutting word, the cold word
Am gaeth i m-muir
Am tond trethan
Am fuaim mara
Am dam secht ndirend
Am seig i n-aill
Am der grene
Am cain lubai
Am torc ar gail
Am he i l-lind
Am loch i m-maig
Am bri a ndai
Am gai i fodb fras feochtu
Am de delbas do chind codnu
Coiche nod gleith clochur slebe
Cia on co tagair aesa escai
Cia du i l-laig fuiniud grene
Cia beir buar o thig tethrach
Cia buar tethrach tibi
Cia dam, cia de delbas faebru a ndind ailsiu
Cainte im gai, cainte gaithe
I am the wind on the sea
I am the stormy wave
I am the sound of the ocean
I am the bull with seven horns
I am the hawk on the cliff face
I am the sun's tear
I am the beautiful flower
I am the boar on the rampage
I am the salmon in the pool
I am the lake on the plain
I am the defiant word
I am the spear charging into battle
I am the god who put fire in your head
Who made the trails through stone mountains
Who knows the age of the moon
Who knows where the setting sun rests
Who took the cattle from the house of the warcrow
Who pleases the warcrow's cattle
What bull, what god created the mountain skyline
The cutting word, the cold word
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