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Nokturnal Mortum - The Forgotten Ages Of Victories

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Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-113-5446 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

(Music: Knjaz Varggoth; Lyrics: Knjaz Varggoth)

The thunder of the drums is heard and cattle herds are driving
back. Sunset is driving near, The heat of hoofs - all around
melt away in the shaggy beard of great and wise elder sunset.
The forests and the mountains surrounding the village he covers
by golden cloth - the night is drawing near. Bonfires blaze up
and the flame tongues raise up to blacken sky like hands. The
hearers faces are visible through the flame. The grey-haired
elder opens the secret of his past, through night and fire his
word again find the youth. His face covered with wrinkles like
waterless earth shined with life as in his youth. And his tale
was drifted through the time to distant faraways of those days.
When the steel was like continuation of the hand and the warriors
were not afraid of their enemies power - then moon was shining
brighter and sun warned more times than nowadays. The forest
has been lighted by thousand of bonfires, it have been seen that
celebration has begun, and singing drowned the noise of the wind
but (the) elder continued this tale. When the valor and the honor
was valued oved lie and hypocrisy, when the pride and the eminence
was valued over the slavery and the cowardice. The enemies cities
and villages were on fire! Blood and death, screams and mourns
- Hell came out! The honor and the praise to power. The beat
of hoofs and crunch of steel, the scythe of death flied over
this field, eyes were looking into eyes and heavens were on fire!
The warriors heart melted and tears appeared in the old eyes
- the tears of the real master. His hand is clenched in the first,
the teeth was gritted as that time, the ages of victories are
over. It`s now time to wait. No sooner that the sun get out of
continement and the first rays let the birds know that the day
had come. No sooner that the herds were driving on the pasture
the hair of the old warrior was streaming by the breeze. He`d
been looking at the faraways and didn`t find that the celebration
was over. His thoughts were with those far times. Like a cold
shudder passed through his skin. He rose and returned back to
his house not left by the memories about those distant times.
The honor and praise to power! The forgotten ages of victories.

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