Blood Axis - The Dream | Текст песни

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• Blood Axis
• The Dream

Ôwê, war sint verswunden
alliu mîniu jâr!
ist mîn leben mir getroumet,
oder ist ez wâr?
daz ich ie wânde, daz iht waere,
was daz iht?
dar nâch hân ich geslâfen
und enweiz es niht.

Nû bin ich erwachet
und ist mir unbekant,
daz mir hie vor was kündic
als mîn ander hant.
liute unde lant, dar in ich
von kinde bin erzogen,
die sint mir frömde worden,
reht als ob ez sî gelogen.

Die mîne gespilen wâren,
die sint traege und alt.
bereitet ist daz velt,
verhouwen ist der walt.
wan daz daz wazzer fliuzet,
als ez wîlent flôz,
für wâr, ich wânde,
mîn ungelücke wurde grôz.

Mich grüezet maneger trâge,
der mich bekande ê wol.
diu welt ist allenthalben
ungenâden vol.
als ich gedenke an manegen
wünneclîchen tac,
die mir sint enpfallen
als in daz mer ein slac.

iemer mêre ouwê.

English translation:

Alas, where have they gone to, year on weary year?
Was it all a dream then, my life's, my love's career?
Things I took for granted, were they really so?
Sleep, sleep overtook me, and then I didn't know.
Now I have awakened, but like a foreign land
Are things once as familiar as my own right hand.
The people and the places that as a child I knew
Now seem strange and distant, a tale which isn't true.
Children I once played with are no longer young and proud.
The forests have been levelled, the meadows have been ploughed.
But for the river flowing where it always flowed
My heart could never carry its heavy, heavy load.
Some who paid me honour now turn their eyes away;
The world is too ungrateful when one is old and grey.
Fondly I remember what joy there used to be.
Those days have vanished traceless as ripples on the sea,
Evermore, alas!

Alas, for the young people, how lamentable they are.
Once they were so courtly, a better crowd by far.
All they know is worry! Why are they so sad?
Though I search the world over, not one I find is glad.
Dancing, laughing, singing are no-where in their creed.
No Christian ever saw a more pathetic breed.
Just look at how the ladies bind up their hair;
Proud knights attired in costumes the peasantry might wear.
Unlovely, unkind letters have come to us from Rome;
Distress caused at a distance brings despondency at home.
Once we lived not badly. It troubles me within:
When laughter turns to mourning, what then do we win?
The wild birds in the branches, they too lament our plight.
How can I continue to hope for some respite?
Oh, but this is foolish, to be so sorely vexed!
To seek joy in this world is to lose it in the next,
Evermore, alas!

Alas, how we've been poisoned by things which taste so sweet.
If you take the honey, gall is what you'll eat.
The world without is pleasing, white and green and red;
Within, dark black's her colour, dismal like the dead.
Whoever she seduces should look to be redeemed;
Penance for some great sin may be lighter than it seemed.
Take note, you knights, consider! This is your travail:
You wear the shining helmet, the shirt of strong chain mail.
Yours is the sturdy long-shield, the consecrated sword;
I wish that I were worthy of such a bless'd reward.
What riches I, a poor man, could then accumulate.
(I don't mean gold or silver or any vast estate!)
An eternal crown of glory would then my brow enhance;
Any simple soldier could win one with his lance.
If I could cross the ocean, if that could come to pass,
My song would be rejoicing, and nevermore "alas!"
Nevermore "alas!"


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