Lirik Lagu A Tale From The Deep Woods - Bal-Sagoth
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TIPS PENCARIAN LIRIK FAVORIT ANDA
ANDA MENGETAHUI JUDUL DAN NAMA PENYANYI
- Ketikkan nama penyanyi dan judul lagu, berikan tanda kutip di judul lagu, misal: Yovie "Menjaga Hati";
- bila tidak berhasil, coba untuk mengilangkan tanda kutip, misal: Yovie Menjaga Hati; atau
- dapat juga dengan mengeklik menu A B C D.., lalu cari berdasarkan nama artis. Yovie dimulai dengan Y, klik Y. Lihat daftar lagu, dan dapatkan yang Anda cari.
ANDA TAK MENGETAHUI JUDUL LAGU, TAPI MENGETAHUI NAMA PENYANYI
- Ketik nama penyanyi, misal: YOVIE, akan muncul banyak halaman, telusuri dan pilih dari halaman-halaman tersebut; atau
- klik menu A B C D E ... berdasarkan nama artis Y, cari Yovie, dan cari lirik yang Anda cari.
ANDA TAK MENGETAHUI JUDUL LAGU, TAPI MENGETAHUI SYAIR
- Ketikkan penggalan syair yang Anda ketahui, misal:
Tanpamu tiada berarti
Tak mampu lagi berdiri
Cahaya kasihmu menuntunku
Kembali dalam dekapan tanganmu - Masukkan kata-kata penting. Misal: tiada berarti berdiri cahaya dekapan.
- Hindari kata-kata yang berkemungkinan memiliki ada dua versi atau lebih. Misal: tanpamu dapat ditulis tanpa mu.
TETAP TIDAK DAPAT MENEMUKAN LIRIK YANG ANDA CARI
- Pilih menu A B C D E ... berdasarkan nama artis atau judul lagu.
- Bila masih tidak dapat menemukan lirik yang Anda cari, mungkin kami bisa membantu Anda. Silakan menghubungi kami.
The ravens are on the wing!
My scramasax is red (stained with the blood of many Mercian warriors),The ravens are on the wing,By Offa's decree I am an outlaw,Branded wolfshead by my own king.(The orm-garth awaits me, darkly astir with ophidian malice...)
The ravens are on the wing!
Ash for our spear-hafts,Yew for our bow-staves,Oak for our deck planks,Oak and elder our shields.
Hail, o' great liege of the ancient woods, ruler of the deepest forest... you,who were reigning o'er your time-veiled kingdom centuries before the arrogantmen who proclaim themselves kings of this island ever supped of life'sbitter-sweet draught...
I give you my hail,I give you my blood,I give you my life,O' sylvan liege.
My life bleeds forth unto the earth (from many deep and dire wounds), To slakeyour roots, great old king... (as I rest my battle-ravaged body againstthee.)
The ravens are on the wing!
Ten leagues ride on lathered steed,Gold in hand to a sword-for-hire,A blood-eagle carved by Saxon steel,And two score slain earns royal ire.
Gwynned lies two days westwards,Still further south, the weregeld calls.Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour,My deeds may yet inspire the skalds.
Litha's moon gleams high o'er the tallest oak,Ancient king in this sylvan court of elm, ash and yew,The wood-spirits watch from gnarled bough and bole,As I pull two Mercian shafts from my bloodied thews.
The ravens are on the wing!
I give you my hail,I give you my blood,I give you my life,O' sylvan liege.
Beneath the oak, I rest, bone weary,Thirsting for a horn of ale or jug of mead,And yet how could a heathen man wish for any more,Than the healing balms of English trees?
The ravens are on the wing!
My scramasax is red (stained with the blood of many Mercian warriors),The ravens are on the wing,By Offa's decree I am an outlaw,Branded wolfshead by my own king.(The orm-garth awaits me, darkly astir with ophidian malice...)
The ravens are on the wing!
Ash for our spear-hafts,Yew for our bow-staves,Oak for our deck planks,Oak and elder our shields.
Hail, o' great liege of the ancient woods, ruler of the deepest forest... you,who were reigning o'er your time-veiled kingdom centuries before the arrogantmen who proclaim themselves kings of this island ever supped of life'sbitter-sweet draught...
I give you my hail,I give you my blood,I give you my life,O' sylvan liege.
My life bleeds forth unto the earth (from many deep and dire wounds), To slakeyour roots, great old king... (as I rest my battle-ravaged body againstthee.)
The ravens are on the wing!
Ten leagues ride on lathered steed,Gold in hand to a sword-for-hire,A blood-eagle carved by Saxon steel,And two score slain earns royal ire.
Gwynned lies two days westwards,Still further south, the weregeld calls.Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour,My deeds may yet inspire the skalds.
Litha's moon gleams high o'er the tallest oak,Ancient king in this sylvan court of elm, ash and yew,The wood-spirits watch from gnarled bough and bole,As I pull two Mercian shafts from my bloodied thews.
The ravens are on the wing!
I give you my hail,I give you my blood,I give you my life,O' sylvan liege.
Beneath the oak, I rest, bone weary,Thirsting for a horn of ale or jug of mead,And yet how could a heathen man wish for any more,Than the healing balms of English trees?
The ravens are on the wing!
