Legends Of Minstrels
They were the legends of minstrels
That were the living in the wathering of the wind
They were the voices of death mountains
That were echoed on the slopes
They were the wind bringing souls making
Among the black roses throwing by laments
Last full moon birds were flapping to immortality
It was not the last culpa wine that shut the heaven door
With the first sign of fall nature was brightened up
Looking earth and with sorrow
Sky was washing up with full moon as the darkness has fallen down
Lendas dos Trovadores
Eram as lendas dos trovadores
Que viviam na brisa do vento
Eram as vozes das montanhas da morte
Que ecoavam nas encostas
Eram o vento trazendo almas fazendo
Entre as rosas negras lançadas por lamentos
Na última lua cheia, os pássaros batiam as asas rumo à imortalidade
Não foi o último vinho da culpa que fechou a porta do céu
Com o primeiro sinal do outono, a natureza se iluminou
Olhando para a terra e com tristeza
O céu se lavava com a lua cheia enquanto a escuridão caía.