1. Hahó Együttes - Anyák napi köszöntő dal 03:20 [2016] 
2. Ismerős Arcok - Nélküled 5:41 [2010]
3. Egyéb szövegek - Ballagási dalok - Ballag már a vén diák
Dalriada - Vigilant
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Megtekintve: Ma 1, összesen 2143 alkalommal
Beküldő
Dalszöveg
How countless art ye, loathsome pagans.
What army ye plunder with, to take slaves and treasures.
What danger imperils our border castles.
How ye threaten their walls men and goods.
Ye will harm us, if ye art outnumbered.
But victory will hardly be thine, if ye’ll look out to few.
Ye’ll be countless, in thy hour of death
Thus choose wisely, to watch ozt fot thine crowd.
Don’t the liar’s God at all,
Gather lots of armies, in our lands middle,
Fight bravely for our strongholds power,
Don’t trust the Sultan’s victory at all!
And ye, vallant-fellow soldiers, defend thine country,
Don’t regret blood and wounds on good horses back,
Don’t wonder at the plenty of enemies,
Take vengance upon them for thine wasted lands!
Deep int he woods, at the very aedbe of land,
Trample the pagans to the fields of green!
Hound the robbers tot heir graves!
Behind thine back, home’s bleeding, wound,
Don’t turn thine face from our wives and children!
Deep int he woods, at the very edge of land,
Trample the pagans to the fields of green!
What army ye plunder with, to take slaves and treasures.
What danger imperils our border castles.
How ye threaten their walls men and goods.
Ye will harm us, if ye art outnumbered.
But victory will hardly be thine, if ye’ll look out to few.
Ye’ll be countless, in thy hour of death
Thus choose wisely, to watch ozt fot thine crowd.
Don’t the liar’s God at all,
Gather lots of armies, in our lands middle,
Fight bravely for our strongholds power,
Don’t trust the Sultan’s victory at all!
And ye, vallant-fellow soldiers, defend thine country,
Don’t regret blood and wounds on good horses back,
Don’t wonder at the plenty of enemies,
Take vengance upon them for thine wasted lands!
Deep int he woods, at the very aedbe of land,
Trample the pagans to the fields of green!
Hound the robbers tot heir graves!
Behind thine back, home’s bleeding, wound,
Don’t turn thine face from our wives and children!
Deep int he woods, at the very edge of land,
Trample the pagans to the fields of green!
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