The Trail
The Witcher 3 Lyrics
We have lyrics for 'The Trail' by these artists:
Birdstone New world opens to my eyes from the shadow Somebody knows…
C.D.JAY Trail of broken hearts Looking back at you Now and…
J. Visser Give love more than a little bit Most people show no…
Jesse J. Smith Angels, come to paint the desert nightly, When the moon is…
Leilani Wolfgramm I was born on the Trail, Two doors down from the…
Miss Kenichi The trail Carve your name in a tree Watch the birds read He…
The B-Side Project Yeaa yea Ohh ohh Mmm mmm mmm Its been a long week and…
The lyrics are frequently found in the comments by searching or by filtering for lyric videos
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@TheKrou
Słyszę, słyszę w południe tętent lipowych bogów
Na moście niezabudką przybitym do rozłogów.
Śródpolny im policzki wiatr opala zielone
I konie ich biegają w tę stronę i tę stronę.
Drewniane z głów hełmy błyskają jak konewki,
Kiedy z wodą je niosą na miedze dzikie dziewki.
Przez pola, łąki pędzą, z szuwaru w szuwar gęsty,
Giną za nimi tętent, bulgot rzek, wiklin chrzęsty.
Zdziczałe oto wiązy jak zielone obłoki
Rozdzierają bożyszczom spod hełmów kudły, loki.
Widzę, widzę w południe odjazd lipowych bogów,
Widzę bogów na moście, na moście wśród rozłogów.
Schnie siano, dzika róża pachnie za dnia jak nocą,
Tętnią kopyta koni, płaszcze bogów łopocą.
Jaką lilią łąkową wesprę okapy powiek,
Zdławiony dalą polną śmiertelny, marny człowiek?
- "Upalne Południe" by Jan Bolesław Ożog
@TheKrou
+Madhu Kankar Translating poetry is something best left to linguists, and even they usually cannot replicate the beauty contained within the language as they translate it. This is especially true for Polish, with all of its sentence structure inversions, the relationship between the archaic Slavic and modern Polish dialects, etc. I am sitting down and translating it, but I will make no attempt at making it sound as beautiful as the original, or beautiful at all, as my mastery of either language is simply not where it would need to be in order to do so.
Here is what I got:
I hear, I hear at noon the hoofed tramp of linden gods
On a bridge nailed with forget-me-nots to stolons.
The midfield gale tans their cheeks green
and their horses run this way and that way.
Wooden helmets on their heads sparkle like watering cans,
when, [filled] with water, wild wenches carry them to the balks.
Through fields, meadows they rush, from bulrush to dense bulrush, [and]
Dies behind them the hooves' tramp, rivers' gurgles, willows' crackling.
Feral elms like green clouds
Tear, from beneath their helmets, the idols' shags [and] curls.
I see, I see at noon the departure of linden gods,
I see the gods on the bridge, the bridge among stolons.
Hay dries, the wild rose smells in daytime as it does at night,
Horses' hooves tramp, the gods' coats crackle.
What meadow lily will support the hoods of the eyelids,
[of a] Crushed by the breadth of the field, mortal, miserable man?
@G4LERNE
Thank you Poland, for saving video games.
@TheDarthDestruktor
MrAsfurix PL The world of course!
@ionescucosmin1593
Ivan Savic No thanks.
@TheCarpai
This is Caboose Poland - the hero Gamestham deserves... and also the one that it needs right now ;)
@goralgra3672
This is Caboose No problem dude (Dying Light is from Poland too) :)
@karakas9905
Ivan Savic Yes
@zDrewww
The beginning always gives me the chills.
@qbax3
Słyszysz?
@gugugaga1233
@@qbax3 SŁŁŁŁŁYYYSZZZZĘĘĘĘĘĘ
@karimghazal1531
no no the ending