The Curse of the Great

	作词 : Cryptopsy, Levasseur ...
	Das ist der fluch der mÃ'�chtigen
	Let us settle with swords
	The affairs of men:
	Violence is the answer:
	Â'�Sis im blutÂ'�... Eisblut!
	In this soiled world
	We see aspects of damnation
	On the faces of the killed
	Instead of gratitude
	This psychology may seem
	A bit baroque at first
	But what a boon it be
	When the demons come
	With time and telling, memory dulls
	Of rotting boys with empty skulls:
	All sons of ares, sons of mars
	Whose flesh be worms, whose souls be stars
	Myriads of combat corpses
	The eggshell skeletons of men
	Debris over which weep
	Their stricken families:
	Parents, wives and children
	Their heroic children
	Their heroic sufferings
	Do strengthen hearts
	And moisten eyes
	Know ye not (Have ye forgotten?)
	Your place in the earth?
	We know (as we've always known)
	(That) there can be no place
	For such as ye
	Upon our blameless, benighted earth
	The breath of the dead
	Fills the stagnant breeze:
	Now, the world is perfect
	(And) those left behind still weep
	(And) should the question of terror arise
	We'll draw our hate down from the skies
	We live beneath a carcass moon
	That makes a horror of all days
	For on this battlefield
	Even the wicked get worse than they deserve
	Â'�But then, it is the curse of the great
	To have to walk over the corpses. Â'�
	Â'�Es war schon immer der fluch der mÃ'�chtigen
	Ã'�ber leichen schreiten zu mÃ'�ssen. Â'�
	With our deeds of carnage
	We hail bloodshed our immortal king

	zuò cí : Cryptopsy, Levasseur ...
	Das ist der fluch der m' chtigen
	Let us settle with swords
	The affairs of men:
	Violence is the answer:
	' Sis im blut'... Eisblut!
	In this soiled world
	We see aspects of damnation
	On the faces of the killed
	Instead of gratitude
	This psychology may seem
	A bit baroque at first
	But what a boon it be
	When the demons come
	With time and telling, memory dulls
	Of rotting boys with empty skulls:
	All sons of ares, sons of mars
	Whose flesh be worms, whose souls be stars
	Myriads of combat corpses
	The eggshell skeletons of men
	Debris over which weep
	Their stricken families:
	Parents, wives and children
	Their heroic children
	Their heroic sufferings
	Do strengthen hearts
	And moisten eyes
	Know ye not Have ye forgotten?
	Your place in the earth?
	We know as we' ve always known
	That there can be no place
	For such as ye
	Upon our blameless, benighted earth
	The breath of the dead
	Fills the stagnant breeze:
	Now, the world is perfect
	And those left behind still weep
	And should the question of terror arise
	We' ll draw our hate down from the skies
	We live beneath a carcass moon
	That makes a horror of all days
	For on this battlefield
	Even the wicked get worse than they deserve
	' But then, it is the curse of the great
	To have to walk over the corpses. '
	' Es war schon immer der fluch der m' chtigen
	' ber leichen schreiten zu m' ssen. '
	With our deeds of carnage
	We hail bloodshed our immortal king