歌词:A long song about something sophisiticated

• 歌词语言：英文

	It is my passion, it is my desire
	To begin to sing, to set out to recite
	A song of the dead, a story of the gone
	To comfort their souls, and those of our own
	I am not a storyteller with good stories
	What I sing is what I saw, and also what I feel
	Not so grand as these of the old minstrel
	Not so delicate as those of a playwright
	Once there was this lady who thought
	That all killing is simply evil
	And she sold her power, sold her soul
	For a pact with a priest of death
	When everything got settled and dusted
	Came the manipulator from a gap
	She said that all must stop at once
	But as it turned out it was a late effort
	And so years went by, flew was the time
	It was a tale so dreadful that no one would tell
	One day after the erection of walls
	Again the peace went away from the land
	Snow kept falling, Spring lay asleep
	No one knew the reason, no one had a clue
	Three went out searching to find out the truth
	Petal-like snowflakes caressed them all
	The red shrine maiden, a carefree one
	She ran out of donations, so she set out
	To see and to discover, what evil on earth
	Dragged her into a whole new crisis
	The silver head maid, a steadfast one
	Her masters consumed too much tea
	'The stock'll be gone', she said, to herself
	And she went out to replenish their stowage
	The black magician, an ordinary one
	She'd no particular motive at all
	It might have been simply too much boredom
	Or it was she hated being left behind
	The three set their steps on a trip
	Neither to heaven, nor to hell
	As their destination has the distinction
	For accommodating all dead souls
	As they each paved their ways through the snow
	Cleared all confusions, and got above
	Dealt with the border of noise and music
	They reached the gate of the netherworld
	A half-human-half-ghost, a determined gatekeeper
	An attentive gardener, a sinewy sword-bearer
	She was feisty as the Spring that was lost
	And cold as the Winter that hadn't gone
	Her master, a princess, of eternal youth
	A dead soul awaken, a ghost, two-foot
	Had smuggled the Spring, secretly stored it
	Inside of her archaic cherry tree
	The cherry tree, in full bloom, a boon companion
	Guarded her corpse alongside her powers
	But under the lively look on the surface
	It was a lighthouse leading to death
	An intensive conversation, an intense battle
	A clash between different innocent desires
	So long did it rage in the world of the dead
	That it eventually made the flowers go wild
	There are plenty accounts that tell
	How the incident came to an end
	While most of these focus at the process and battles
	Little was said about the story after
	Then, all the snow halted falling
	Spring got free of its captivity
	On a bright and warm new day
	The resurrected princess made a request
	She didn't talk a lot about her past
	But an old friend of her was brought up
	That friend, she said, was as always
	Lying firm for another endless hibernation
	She wanted someone to give her friend
	Her greetings, regards, and a kick
	First to inform about their reunion
	Then to get her out of her bed
	So the three went back from the reign of the dead
	Returning to life in every sense
	And went to search for a certain person
	Residing in the boundaries of everything
	Some petty disputes, a little malentendu
	After all the hostess was fully awaken
	The wily weasel, seventeen years old
	Went out to her friend for a rendezvous
	With the dead got revitalised
	And the sage reclaimed her passion
	Spring spread through the land
	The story came to its end
	And as things they all got settled
	The land of illusions again was in peace
	While none may ever fathom all the facts
	A song about these lasses would glide on