The Saxon Alehouse - The Traveller's Tales скачать в хорошем качестве

The Saxon Alehouse - The Traveller's Tales

#AI #FolkMusic #MedievalFolk #SunoAI #TheTravelersTales #TavernMusic #BardCore #AIGenerated #FantasyMusic #storytelling #EnglishFolk #Homecoming #SaxonInn #FolkMusic #AcousticBallad #Storytelling #Traveler #TraditionalFolk #HearthAndHome #TheJourneyEnds "Is love a prize in a foreign tongue... or a song that's always sung in your own little town?" 🏠🍺 The journey that began in the desert sands and crossed the Carpathian peaks finally finds its way back to the English rain. In "The Saxon Inn," our traveler trades his tales of "silk from far-off lands" for the smell of hops and the warmth of a timbered hall. But as he tries to boast of his adventures, he finds that the greatest challenge isn't surviving a storm at sea—it's finding a way to truly come home. A song for the weary wanderer, the homesick soul, and anyone who has ever realized that what they were looking for was waiting right where they started. [Verse 1] Through English rain and muddy lane, I found a timbered hall Where shadows dance on stone and grain, and flickering embers fall The smell of hops and roasted meat, it fills the heavy air I seek a love to make me complete, and ease my traveling care I saw a lass with braided gold, and eyes of honest grey But my heart felt small and strangely cold, with nothing left to say [Chorus] Oh, raise a horn in the Saxon Inn, and let the chorus rise! To drown the ghost of where I've been, and all my traveling lies! I seek a love of hearth and home, of soil and ancient tree No longer do I wish to roam, across the churning sea! [Verse 2] The harper sang of heroes past, of kings in silver mail Of loves that were too grand to last, and ships that lost their sail I tried to boast of desert sun, and silk from far-off lands But the local men, when I was done, just looked at their calloused hands One old man laughed into his cup, and winked a weary eye "You’re looking down to gather up, what’s waiting in the sky!" The ale is thick, the fire is low, the world is turning round I’ve got ten thousand miles to go, before I'm homeward bound Is love a prize in a foreign tongue, a jewel in a distant crown? Or is it a song that's always sung, in your own little town? [Verse 3] So let the rain beat on the thatch, and let the wind go by I’ll lift the heavy iron latch, and look to the northern sky The Mediterranean kept my name, with salt and ancient stone But the flicker of a dying flame, is calling me back home! [Final Chorus] Oh, raise a horn in the Saxon Inn, and let the chorus rise! To drown the ghost of where I've been, and all my traveling lies! I seek a love of hearth and home, of soil and ancient tree No longer do I wish to roam, across the churning sea! [Outro] Calling me back home... Across the churning sea...