grande gil,avevo aperto un topic tempo fa per inserire nel forum tutte le canzoni delle cronache,meno male che sei arrivato te!

Grazie Gil!!!

Un ottimo lavoro!

tnx! molto belle!!

peccato che a parte quella dell'orso le altre siano più o meno tutte incomplete....

o forse anche quella del dorniano è completa??

"FOR HANDS OF GOLD ARE ALWAYS COLD,

BUT A WOMAN'S HANDS ARE WARM . . . "

(Sempre fredde sono le mani dell'oro,

sempre calde sono quelle di una donna)

He rode through the streets of the city,

down from his hill on high,

O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles,

he rode to a woman's sigh.

For she was his secret treasure,

she was his shame and his bliss.

And a chain and a keep are nothing,

compared to a woman's kiss.

For hands of gold are always cold,

but a woman's hands are warm . . .

"THE RAINS OF CASTAMERE" (Le piogge di Castamere)

And who are you, the proud lord said,

that I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,

that's all the truth I know

In a coat of gold or a coat of red,

a lion still has claws,

And mine are long and sharp, my lord,

as long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,

that lord of Castamere,

But now the rains weep o'er his hall,

with no one there to hear.

Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,

and not a soul to hear.

"THE SONG OF THE SEVEN" (Il canto dei Sette)

The Father's face is stern and strong,

he sits and judges right from wrong.

He weighs our lives, the short and long,

and loves the little children.

The Mother gives the gift of life,

and watches over every wife.

Her gentle smile ends all strife,

and she loves her little children.

The Warrior stands before the foe,

protecting us where e'er we go.

With sword and shield and spear and bow,

he guards the little children.

The Crone is very wise and old,

and sees our fates as they unfold.

She lifts her lamp of shining gold,

to lead the little children.

The Smith, he labors day and night,

to put the world of men to right.

With hammer, plow, and fire bright,

he builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh,

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and give dreams to little children.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children,

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

"THE DORNISHMAN'S WIFE" (La moglie del dorniano)

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,

and her kisses were warmer than spring.

But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,

in a voice that was sweet as a peach,

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,

and the taste of his blood on his tongue,

His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,

and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,

the Dornishman's taken my life,

But what does it matter, for all men must die,

and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!â€

Se mi dite almeno i libri in cui si trovano vedo di cercare le altre che tanto li ho su pc

Ciau!