Towards the sipotu gives the stone, from the thick, thick and dark forest
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Leave in the morning, in the dew, in the fog, in the unpasteful dew,
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With dew on his feet, fog on his back.
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Opspe suliti pin-n apus.
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Up in the sky, in the rays of the sun, at dawn
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The grave descended, green alunis, galban paltinis.
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The leaf of the bud is stinging and I kiss it here in the mountains.
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When the sun rises, the sun rises with the flock,
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When the moon rises proudly I say, good night forest,
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And the leaf swings me, and I fall asleep softly,
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And the thought swayed, and I fell asleep whistling.
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Mindra matraguna, forest grass, forest flower, let me pick you,
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Under the moonlight, in the middle of the forest, from Dinsalor's garden.
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In the middle it is a thick night, the only moon is full, the spell is sure to come out.
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Mistresses of the wind, Enemies of the earth
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Stand behind me, give me the way, let the spell do its own thing.
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On the high peak it gives magura, fog and mist
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Go down, down the valley, to the hat… in the distance…
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And from mountain to mountain, and from rock to rock, from rock to rock,
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(Mountains with laughs, forests with bears, magpies with beasts, bitches with claws
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The rocks with the foxes, the woods with the springs, the fathers were watching deeply and marveling.
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In winds and in volleys, from winds thrown, and sent, in well with trough
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To measure the earth, the earth with the walk, and the sky with the mind.
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And by the way of the lost ones, towards Ursu Mare… 'n Tara da Sus.
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Ask the megies, the advice speaks.
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(The forest to tremble, the elms and firs to shake, the beeches and maples to leave,
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Let her cool her forehead, let her kiss her hand and make her cry.)
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To measure the earth, the earth with the walk, and the sky with lightning.
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In the sky, from the sorbet of the earth.
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Zau!
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On a sloping road to the old mole
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At the foot of the mountain, on small hills,
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Through silent lands, give strong winds,
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The night in the woods grabs me, the woods are lure
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Worn lure, long forgotten.
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Green fir bud gives mountain, on small hills,
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With silent rains, give wind blows and give wet rains,
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Neda and the sentils, behold, between the mountains and the hill, a rushing voice resounds hard,
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from the air.
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Everywhere it gathers slowly, on fire; |
yes under the moonlight!
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The fierce chorus is burning, the mountains are girded,
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To unite, and in this country, the one beyond passes it,
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Tirg da dat. |
Yeah Al that sounds pretty crap to me, Looks like BT aint for me either. |
You are!
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Towards the rocky spring, in the thick forest, thick and dark
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He left at dawn… dew and fog… not grazed yet,
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Dew on the feet, fog on the meat.
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Eighteen hours till sunset.
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Up in the sky, beams of the sun, daybreak
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A steep descent haz the hazel wood’s green, the sycamore grove’s yellow.
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Green is the iris’s bud… shepherd am I, here, in the mountains.
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When the sun rises I take my flock on the balks
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When the moon rises I tell the woods good night
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And the leaf is swinging me, and the doina’s soothing me,
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And the thought is swinging me, and the pipe is soothing me.
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Fairy Belladonna, grass of the woods, flower of the woods, let me pick you up
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In moonlight, in the middle of the forest, in Their garden
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In the depths of a thick night, the lonely moon unstitches to let the spell take over
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place.
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Masters of the Wind, Earth’s Enemies
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Stay behind me, show me my way; |
make the spell take shape, all by itself.
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On the high top hill, fog and darkness (negura)
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From deep down the valley, till far in the distance.
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From mountain to mountain, from realm to realm, from stone to stone
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(Mountains 'lynx, forests' bears, beasts of the hills
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Foxes of the rocks, springs of the groves, all of them were gazing and
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wondering.)
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From within winds and whirlwinds thrown away towards the stars
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To measure the earth with his steps and the sky with his thought.
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On a path of the lost, towards Ursu Mare… up the Upper World.
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The near sky speaks the secret wisdom.
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(Woods were quaking, firs and elms were shaking, beeches and sycamores were
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bending,
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Cooling his forehead, kissing his hand, weeping upon him with their sigh.)
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His steps measure the earth, his lightning the sky.
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In the skies' grove… heart of the earth.
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Indeed!
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On a path through the thicket… at the old hazel wood
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At the foot of a mountain, on the lowest hills,
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Through silent fields blown by winds,
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Caught by night in the woods - I am their long-forgotten apparition.
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Green fir’s bud up in the mountains, on the lowest hills,
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On silent fields blown by winds, and by rains,
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Behold, between the mountains and the hills, a mighty voice is echoing from
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above.
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From everywhere they gather round the fire, in moonlight!
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Round dance begins, it holds the mountains,
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They become one, and bring the other land into this one,
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A trade! |
By giving thou give, you’re mountain’s own… you’re being it! |