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1. The minstrel boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of Death you'll find him.
His father's sword he has girded on
And his wild harp slung behind him.
R. Oh land of song, said the warrior bard
That all the world detray thee.
One sword at least my rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!
R. Oh land of song, said the warrior bard
That all the world detray thee.
One sword at least my rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!
© 11 апреля 1992 г.Москва |
