Praesepe - Fragrance of Old | Текст песни

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• Praesepe
• Fragrance of Old

I call thee,
my thirsty demons!
Can the surging sea,
tear my heart from thee?
Can distant dwelling drain
The ancestral blood
that warms my veins?
I call thee,
my thirsty demons!

Isle, of my Fathers!
hear the filial song
Of him, whose sources
to thou belong!
By the mighty hand
was carved from the land
Thy matchless sons
The foundation laid
Thy matchless arts

The nation made
Pale shades

Those moments from our time are gone
We couldn't see it straight away
Those moments of our life won't come
We couldn't feel it straight away

Their tombs are crumbling
in the desert around,
Whilst I...

... across the sea,
but dream of that sound
that used to be truth
in the elder days
Return, Sweet Vision!
Allow me again
Be when we all were
more than a wind
of pain and despair
Can this be dreaming?
Must my eyelids close
That I may catch
the fragrance of the rose?

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