1. |
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2. |
The Old Oak Tree
04:23
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I sit beneath your leaves, old oak
You mighty one of all the trees
Within whose hollow trunk a man
Could find a shelter from the breeze
(I found a shelter from the breeze)
I see your knuckles hard and strong
But have no fear they'll come to blows
Your life is long, and mine is short
But which has known the greater woes
(I am the one with greater woes)
Thou has not seen no starved women here
Or man gone mad because ill-fed
Who stares at stones in city streets
Mistaking them for hunks of bread
Thou hast not felt the shivering backs
Of homeless children lying down
And sleeping in the cold, night air
Like doors and walls in London town
I sit beneath your leaves, old oak
You mighty one of all the trees
Within whose hollow trunk a man
Could find a shelter from the breeze
I see your knuckles hard and strong
But have no fear they'll come to blows
Your life is long, and mine is short
But which has known the greater woes
Knowing thou hast not known such shame
And only storms have come thy way
Methinks I could in comfort spend
My summer with thee, day by day
And in thy hollow rest at night
The stars turn over leaves of light
And through the open doorway see
The spirits and the powers that be
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3. |
Winter
04:46
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Winter, some call thee fair
Yeah! flatter thy cold face
With vain compare
Of all thy glittering ways
And magic snows
With summer and the rose
Thy phantom flowers
And fretted traceries
Of crystal breath
Thy frozen and fantastic art of death
With April as she showers
The violet on the leas
And bares her bosom
In the blossoming trees
And dances on her way
To go laugh with May
Winter that hath no bird
To sing thee, and no bloom
To deck thy brow
To me thou art an empty haunted room
Where once the music
Of the summer stirred
And all the dancers
Fallen on silence now
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4. |
The Bittern
03:56
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The reeds are idly waving o'er the marshy ground
The ragged herbage rots on many a mound
And desolate pools and marshes deadly lie around
There is no life nor motion, save the winds that fly
With the close-muffled clouds in silence through the sky
There is no sound to stir it, save the Bittern's cry
Bittern, sitting sadly on the fluted edges
Of pillars once the prop and pride of palace ledges
Now smeared with damp decay and sunk in slimy sedges
Shatter'd and sunken, with the sculptured architrave
Peering above the surface of the sluggish wave
Like a gaunt limb thrust fleshless from a shallow grave
The Bittern sitteth sadly on the time-worn stone
Upon life's moldering relics, fearfully alone
Searing the silence ofttimes with his solemn tone
The Bittern--monarch of the sad and dreary place
Mocking the pride and pageant of a ruin'd race
Whose very name is forgotten, whose deeds left no trace
Pleasant songs of peace, the lute, the lover's sigh
The statesman's eloquence
The warrior's battle-cry
Echo from the heedless sky
The hours fleet fast unnoted, and the time is nigh
When even he on featherless wings, he shall soar on high
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5. |
Immortality
04:55
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I bowed my head in anguish sore
When Life made Death his bride
Soul, we are lost forever more!
Unto my soul I cried
Nay, waste in wailing not thy breath
My soul replied to me
The child of Life and Death
Behold! Behold! Immortality!
Hypocrisy will serve as well
Oh, it will serve us well
Persecution and promotion
Do equally advance devotion
So round white stones will serve, they say
As well as eggs to make hens lay
In a church furnish'd with gable
The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable
An altar with gargoyle and groin
The odour of sanctity is eau-de-Cologne
Could Lucifer, flying from Hades
Gaze down on this crowd with panniers and paints
He’d say, looking at the lords and the ladies
Oh, where is All-Sinners, if this is All-Saints?
How shall the living be comforted for the dead
When they are gone, nothing's left behind
But a vague music of the words they said
Be patient to the end, and you shall sleep
Pillowed on heartsease, you will not have to weep
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6. |
The Devil Walks
04:42
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From his brimstone bed at break of day
(A walking the Devil is gone)
To look at his little farm of the World
(And see how his stock went on)
Over the hill and over the dale
(And he went over the plain)
Backward and forward he swish'd his tail
(As a gentleman swishes a cane)
Thou hast confessions to listen
And many big bells to christen
How then was the Devil drest?
(Oh, he was in [his] Sunday's best)
His coat was red and his breeches were blue
(There was a hole where his tail came through)
Thou hast great pardons to sell
But only for those who pay well
Thou hast altars [and] dolls to dress
A few beads and bones to bless
Too holy seemed the night for sleep
And yet, I must have slept, it seems
For, suddenly, I woke to hear
A strange voice singing, shrill and clear
Down in a gully black and deep
That cleft the beetling crag in twain
It seemed the very voice of dreams
That drive hag-ridden souls in fear
Nay, Father, I boast, that this is my post
She answered; and thou wilt allow
The great Harlot
Who is clothed in scarlet
Can very well spare me now
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7. |
Thunderstorm
04:21
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The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low
He flung a menace at the earth
A menace at the sky
The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road
The wagons quickened on the streets
The thunder hurried slow
The lightning showed a yellow beak
And then a livid claw
The birds put up the bars to nests
The cattle fled to barns
There came one drop of giant rain
And then, as if the hands…
There will be thunder then. Remember me
Say, she asked for storms
The entire world will turn the color of crimson stone
And your heart, as then, will turn to fire
Restless and hot two children lay
Plagued with uneasy dreams
Each wandered lonely through false day
A twilight torn with screams
Now high aloft above the town
The thick clouds gather and break
A flash, a roar, and rain drives down
Aghast the young things wake
Trembling for what their terror was
Surprised by instant doom
With lightning in the looking glass
Thunder that rocks the room
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8. |
The Morning Star
03:49
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Far to the South a star
Bright-shining over all
A sound of voices singing
Round a Babe in an ox's-stall
Three Kings a-riding, riding,
With gifts of myrrh and gold
Far, far from the wild North Ocean
Of which this tale is told
By the sea, in the Hall of Beele
Were Yule and joy and feast
Outside was the noise of the ocean
And storm, like a howling beast
The King sate at the banquet
With his Jarls and Berserks hale
Quaffing to Thor and Odin
Huge horns of mead and ale
Unheeded howled the winter
Round the oak walls of the King
For a mighty skald with a runic harp
Made the hall re-echoing ring
Loud laughed the blonde Norse maidens
As they brimmed the barmy cup
Where the torches flickered the war-blades
And the bucklers hanging up
But out by the thundering North Sea
Ten shattered dragons lie
Vessels, like great sea-monsters
To the billows heaving high
And pale and hacked with gashes
Mid his battered arms lies low
The red-haired Viking, Hareck
Half-buried in the snow
And wan, where the waves beat sullen
Lies his brother, one-eyed Hulf
Above whose mail’d visage
Snarls the winter-famished wolf
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9. |
Håvamål Om Vennskap
05:19
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Klær og våpen er vennegaver
Slikt gjør vennskapet synlig
det varer lengst om lykken er god
når vennene veksler gaver (veksler gaver)
For vennen sin skal en være venn
og gjengjelde gave med gave
men ler en av deg så le igjen
lønn ham med løgn for svik (løgn for svik)
Har du en annen
som du ikke tror
og vil utnytte ham tross alt
fagert skal du tale
men falsk mene
lønn ham med løgn for svik
Og atter om den
som du ikke tror
ser du svik i hans sinn
smile skal du mot ham
men skjul dine tanker
la gave svare til gave
For vennen sin
skal en være venn
for ham og hans venn
men for uvenns venn
skal ingen mann
noen gang være venn
Hør, har du en venn
og tror vel om ham
og du vil ha gavn av vennen
bland sinnet ditt med ham
og send ham gaver
søk ham ofte opp
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10. |
The Bell
05:37
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Through the calm and silent air
Floats the tolling funeral bell
Swooning over hill and dell
Heavy laden with despair
Mute between each muffled stroke
Sad as though a dead voice spoke
Out of the dim Past time invoked
Stands my heart all mute with care
The Bell is tolling on, and deep
Deep and drear into my heart
All its bitter accents dart
Peace! sad chime, I will not weep
What is there within thy tone
That should wring my heart alone
Rive it with this endless moan
Peace! and let past sorrows sleep
Fling your music on the breeze
Mock the sighing of the willows
Mock the lapping of the billows
Mock not human sympathies
Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not
With that loved voice ne'er forgot
Flooding me with tears blood-hot
Mock not soul-deep memories
Come not from the unseen Past
Flying up the silent gale
With that deep and muffled wail
Slaying me with lying tale
Base chime, false chime from the Past
Not in sighs of mortal pain
Pain and anguish rise again
Voices from the far Death-plain
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Mercy Curitiba, Brazil
Mercy is a black metal studio project from Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil, drawing inspiration from Antestor, Vaakevandring and Vardøger, with lyrical themes ranging from Christianity to Nature and Norse folklore.
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