Текст песни Cheerful Dirge - Theatre of Tragedy

Hap mirthfulness
Oh, joy of grand riddance
Undress me my hauberk
The wyvern hath erranted

Ire of yore, bard of ever years
I deem the brood hath waned forever more

Fro the chasm of the bosom, bale I hand back
Hark, my dove, henceforth I bulwark thee

Feathers of swans in my pillow
I cede my heart
Make haste, I pray
Respond my plea

Lo, a sire of great awe
A knight of many battles

And of kinsmen weeping for the slain
Please, heed my words
In thy sorrow, I will kiss thy tears
In thy bliss, I will take thee by thy hand

The sapor of grapes thou shalt savor
And harken the nightingale sing oh so blithely

Oh, on his knees, a plea to harvest roses
No heed for the thorns yon count
Wherefore vow me with this gilded proffer?
Wherefore not pay court to a maid more fair?

Morn of a joyous day, hower ′twixt weed
Fertile desert, cheerful dirge
Misery me not, man nor beast envy me
Lest 'tis an act of wont

Many are the drapes that my past bury

Ineffable feeling indulgeth in battles

′Tisn't what thou vambracest thy words with (forgive me for)
I bethink dotingly only thy weal (deeming thee direfully)
There abiding with thee (yet, I was a trifle daunted)
Is for me the grandest boon