Spielmannsfluch

Once upon a time, there was a king, rich in land and things
He sat on his throne, dark and pale
What he thinks is terror, what he sees is rage
What he speaks is a scourge, what he writes is blood

Once, a noble pair of singers came to this castle
One had black curls, the other was gray-haired
The gray one spoke to the young man: "Be ready, my son,
Play the best songs, hit the fullest tone!"

It’s raining, it’s raining blood
It’s raining the minstrel's curse

The two singers play in the grand columned hall
On the throne sits the royal couple
The king, as splendid as bloody northern light
The queen, as sweet as sunshine

They sing of spring, love, and holiness
They melted into sorrow, pleasure was there too
You’ve blinded my people, do you now want my wife?
The king screams in fury, trembling all over

It’s raining, it’s raining blood
It’s raining the minstrel's curse

The king's sword flashes, piercing the young man's chest
Instead of golden songs, now a spray of blood leaps
The young man has breathed his last in his master’s arms
Then the old man screams horrifically, the marble hall shatters

You cursed murderer, you curse of the minstrel's deed
All your struggles are in vain, your actions stained with blood
No song, no hero's book speaks the king's name
Sunken and forgotten - that is the minstrel's curse

It’s raining, it’s raining blood
It’s raining the minstrel's curse