Тексты песен Tintal

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by No pipe did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo But the Angelus bell o'er

Winds of the West The skies of Troy are always bright, The sun has no veil, But I am longing for the light That’s cold and pale. I am born to be a princess high Of marbles stony-white I’d rather dead