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Bird

From your shoulder I will fly
To misty fields,
A little bird.
Hide you with my tender hands
From raging flame
And from the sword.

My sword is heavy,
The saddle on my horse.
Days, nights I traveled,
This road I belong.
Ashes behind, brave warriors dead
They slumber now in battlefields.
My pain is all I've left,
My mother's song is all I hear.

From your shoulder I will fly
To misty fields,
A little bird.
Hide you with my tender hands
From raging flame
And from the sword.

Blood is my trace on feather grass,
Eyes soon be closed, my spirit fades.
Death now has sent for me,
In arrow's whizz - my mother's song.

From your shoulder I will fly
To misty fields,
A little bird.
Hide you with my tender hands
From raging flame
And from the sword.

Lush are these grass in the field,
Wild land over miles around.
Like mother's tears it will rain in silence,
Healing all of you deadly wounds.

Then all of sudden
Wild bird flapped her wing -
Death up she covered
And sat right by me.

Lush are these grass in the field,
Wild land over miles around.
Like mother's tears it will rain in silence,
Healing all of you deadly wounds.


The power of mother's love is truly miraculous. No matter how far will the warrior's path take him, the mother's blessing is always there. For her heart always hurts for him. Our song will tell you how Mother Nature herself protects the warrior from death following the word of his own mother. And how it can return him back to life reminding that our world is full of love and even the most severe wounds will be healed someday.


Contact: ksuhim@rambler.ru

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