Lyrics of Le chien du forgeron - Manau

Le chien du forgeron (original)

Dhistoire en histoire en cycles de lgendes,
Il y en a une dans ma mmoire qui restera parmi les grandes
Popes paennes prs du pays du clan des landes,
En pleine terre dUlster province de lIrlande.
Lhistoire dun gamin,
Encore jeune fougueux,
peine 7 ans,
Il a dj le feu dans le bleu de ses yeux.
Les druides lui ont prdit un drle davenir,
Un choix faire, la consquence de son devenir.
Prendre les armes avant sa majorit,
L deviendrait le plus grands des guerriers que cette terre ait port.
Mais phmre serait sa vie,
Devenir hros de guerre, mourir,
Avoir son nom dans les crits.
Le gamin nhsita pas une seule seconde.
Que a doit tre bon dtre le plus grand guerrier du monde.
Doucement viens, rappelle-toi de ce nom.
On lappelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.
Tant de guerres,
Tant de misres vcues sur la terre de ses pres,
Il na jamais pri le Dieu qui honora sa mre
Dun fils unique qui trouva son surnom.
En tuant le chien de Chulain,
Lui qui tait le forgeron.
Sa vie tait faite de dfis, de conqutes.
Chaque soleil lev faisait de lui un nouvel tre abattre,
Combattre mais dangereux en fait,
Car tel tait le fruit de ceux qui voulaient trouver la dfaite.
De tout lUster, il en tait le champion, gardien de lle verte,
Il en est devenu patron.
Maintenant viens, coute bien ce nom.
On lappelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.
De bataille en batailles, personne ne peut comprendre.
Le chemin de sa destine tait dentrer dans la lgende.
La terre des anciens, des crits paens,
Ce que jai pu recueillir de sa vie au fond de mes bouquins.
Voil cette histoire ne sachve pas l.
Le cycle de la branche rouge a toujours continu ses pas !
A travers le temps, jen garderai la foi.
Les rcits des dieux, des rois et des tribus de Dana.
Que cest bon de rver, de vivre cette culture.
Je tinvite jeune homme dcouvrir cette littrature.
Maintenant viens, coute bien ce nom.
On lappelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.
Curchulain le chien du forgeron.
Et tel tait son nom

(translation)

From history to history in cycles of legends,
There is one in my memory that will remain among the great
Pagan Popes near the Land of the Clan of the Moors,
In the open land of Ulster province of Ireland.
The story of a boy,
Still fiery young,
sentence 7 years,
He already has fire in the blue of his eyes.
The druids predicted a strange future for him,
A choice to make, the consequence of its becoming.
Take up arms before coming of age,
L would become the greatest warrior this land had ever borne.
But Phamera would be his life,
Become a war hero, die,
Get your name in the crits.
The kid didn't hesitate for a second.
How good must it be to be the greatest warrior in the world.
Slowly come, remember this name.
They called him Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.
So many wars,
So many miseries lived on the land of his fathers,
He never prayed to the God who honored his mother
An only son who found his nickname.
By killing Chulain's dog,
He who was the blacksmith.
His life was full of challenges, of conquests.
Each rising sun made him a new downcast being,
Fighting but dangerous in fact,
For such was the fruit of those who would find defeat.
Of all Uster he was its champion, keeper of the green island,
He became its patron.
Now come on, listen to that name.
They called him Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.
From battle to battle, no one can understand.
The path to his destiny was to become a legend.
The land of the ancients, of pagan scriptures,
What I was able to collect from his life at the bottom of my books.
Well, this story doesn't end there.
The cycle of the red branch has always continued its steps!
Through time I will keep the faith.
Tales of the gods, kings and tribes of Dana.
How good it is to dream, to live this culture.
I invite you young man to discover this literature.
Now come on, listen to that name.
They called him Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.
Curchulain the blacksmith's dog.
And such was his name