Mockingbirds.
February rang the bells of winter early,
Cleaned the January innocence from the chapel halls
And left the parishioners to shiver in the rain.
Kaski san, cry the mockingbirds in barren trees,
Kaski san and te merav...
For we have seen the closing of heaven's gates,
And the early breath of February
That strikes the lathe of stars
Across the bitter winter skies.
Te lolirav I phuv mure ratesa;
Te merel muro dad, muri, dei;
Te pabaren mange memelia;
Ov yilo isi?
Chachimos tai Devel...
Bater. Bater.
I beg of you.
The wind breaks down the cold and shrouding trees;
Whips snow clean of branches, denies
The chance of bud and bough;
February is an unkind mistress,
And in her arms the mockingbird
And the hyacinth girl can only weep,
For they are nothing in the face of such eternal fury.
Te merav. Kaski san, chi tute amriya te?
Te merav. Te merav.
Bolde tut, kako.
But February gives no answer,
And oh, but she comes early,
And oh, but I am cold.
The old ones know the words:
They chant them like secrets,
Keep them talisman-close,
A gift against heaven,
A promise against tomorrow.
Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa, they say,
And their children wander further roads
And further still, and no one sees
The maiden in her faded gown,
Blue on blue, purple on white,
As she runs towards Gilead.
Te merav. I beg of you.
This is not amaro baro them.
Putrav lesko drom angle
Leste te na inkrav les mai
But palpale mura brigasa.
Bi kashtesko merel i yag;
Te merav. O, kaski san?
Kaski san?
I beg of you.
Forgive me.
The waves that whip the bitter sea;
The waves that whip the chilling sea;
The waves that do not see, or care,
Or mark a single hour's forgiveness;
These are the waves that February brings.
They smash the boats that sail for Babylon.
They crash the white-winged gull against the cliff,
And break the hearts of those who run,
Unbound,
For Gilead.
Bolde tut, kako; te merav.
I chatski tsinuda de tehara,
Vai de haino, khal tut...
And I have always been true.
I have always been true.
This is not our big land.
This is not the road to Babylon.
This is the sound of January fading.
The vurma mark the path ahead,
Where February's winds are calm and still.
Te merav, sing the mockingbirds, and fall silent.
Kaski san? asks the wind, now; kaski san?
And the sky gives no reply.
Ov yilo isi?
Nais tuke.
Perdal l paya, te merav.
Zhan le Devlesa.
Go with God.
Cleaned the January innocence from the chapel halls
And left the parishioners to shiver in the rain.
Kaski san, cry the mockingbirds in barren trees,
Kaski san and te merav...
For we have seen the closing of heaven's gates,
And the early breath of February
That strikes the lathe of stars
Across the bitter winter skies.
Te lolirav I phuv mure ratesa;
Te merel muro dad, muri, dei;
Te pabaren mange memelia;
Ov yilo isi?
Chachimos tai Devel...
Bater. Bater.
I beg of you.
The wind breaks down the cold and shrouding trees;
Whips snow clean of branches, denies
The chance of bud and bough;
February is an unkind mistress,
And in her arms the mockingbird
And the hyacinth girl can only weep,
For they are nothing in the face of such eternal fury.
Te merav. Kaski san, chi tute amriya te?
Te merav. Te merav.
Bolde tut, kako.
But February gives no answer,
And oh, but she comes early,
And oh, but I am cold.
The old ones know the words:
They chant them like secrets,
Keep them talisman-close,
A gift against heaven,
A promise against tomorrow.
Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa, they say,
And their children wander further roads
And further still, and no one sees
The maiden in her faded gown,
Blue on blue, purple on white,
As she runs towards Gilead.
Te merav. I beg of you.
This is not amaro baro them.
Putrav lesko drom angle
Leste te na inkrav les mai
But palpale mura brigasa.
Bi kashtesko merel i yag;
Te merav. O, kaski san?
Kaski san?
I beg of you.
Forgive me.
The waves that whip the bitter sea;
The waves that whip the chilling sea;
The waves that do not see, or care,
Or mark a single hour's forgiveness;
These are the waves that February brings.
They smash the boats that sail for Babylon.
They crash the white-winged gull against the cliff,
And break the hearts of those who run,
Unbound,
For Gilead.
Bolde tut, kako; te merav.
I chatski tsinuda de tehara,
Vai de haino, khal tut...
And I have always been true.
I have always been true.
This is not our big land.
This is not the road to Babylon.
This is the sound of January fading.
The vurma mark the path ahead,
Where February's winds are calm and still.
Te merav, sing the mockingbirds, and fall silent.
Kaski san? asks the wind, now; kaski san?
And the sky gives no reply.
Ov yilo isi?
Nais tuke.
Perdal l paya, te merav.
Zhan le Devlesa.
Go with God.