Rache Archive - Thesilée

The Novelist’s Revenge Song

I am a novelist, the pen clenched in my fist
In this long November night
I’ve got a pot of tea, My cat is here with me
I guess we have some time to write

You may not remember me, I’m one you cannot see
And you’re a figment of my mind
But I remember you, and I will relate to you
How both our fates are still entwined
At the time you were the hero of my tale
Knowing all too well if you won’t cope, I’d fail (Oh, oh)

You had a charming air, the looks were also there
My beta reader thought you hot
And so I set up stage, filled you with lust and rage
And thought that you could drive my plot
As time wore on you proved a brick and a stubborn mule
Leaving my novel to look like the work of a fool (Oh, oh)

And then my plot was gone, I could not carry on
While you were roaming wild and free
I gave you one last chance: Abide my will and prance! –
And my poor muse gave up on me
That one day in spring, my dear muse left my side
But, before she did she took my hand as she madly cried: (Oh, oh)

»Fight him, write him
Make him spend his life between your pages for ages
Drag him through your book and when he rots there, plot’s there
Fifty thousand words and he is done!«

You left me in a shock. I suffered writers’ block
Days filled with self-hate and with booze
Did not care for hygiene. I burnt my Moleskine
For I had nothing left to lose
But, never once during the time of this endless night
Did I ever, once turn my mind from this book I’d write (Oh, oh)

One night I overheard some writers exchanging words
About an upcoming event.
The goal: To write a book. I swallowed bait and hook
It sounded like a month well-spent.
The following day I did sign up for an account
And in the whistle of the wind I could hear a sound (Oh, oh)

»Fight him, write him
Make him spend his life between your pages for ages
Drag him through your book and when he rots there, plot’s there
Fifty thousand words and he is done!«

»There is one thing I must say to you: During a Nanowrimo write
Always, your muses will watch over you, as you attempt to win this fight.«

And then, that fateful night I had you in my sight
I was prepared to write and win
My notepad at my hand, prepared for my last stand
When came this rumbling from within
The leaves did fall, the sky went black and the forum burst
And before us grew the angry jaws of November First …

Don’t know how I prevailed. I would have surely quailed
Somehow I managed to push through
But, oh, what providence, what divine intelligence
That I would end up here with you
It gives my heart great joy to see your eyes fill with fear
To lean in close and I will write down the last words you’ll hear (Oh, oh)

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Text © 2024 by Thesilée
Melodie: »The Mariner’s Revenge Song«, © Colin Meloy

Ragnarök (Loki’s Song)

The God of Fire I was called, but god I am no more:
I owe this fate to Balder, and to Odin, and to Thor.
In Asgard I would make my home, I dwelt among their mitts.
They envied me my beauty and my powers and my wits.
Of all the gods the folks did love, they loved me most of all,
So Odin and the likes of him made sure I had to fall.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill them.

Of all the gods I used to know, you were my closest friend.
To have some drinks and have some fun were things you’d understand.
As I enjoyed your tantrums, you dealt well with my mischief
And you were not among the men to name me liar, thief.
I dressed you up as Freya fair, to be a giant’s wife:
To me you owe your hammer, Thor – to me you’ll lose your life.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill you.

Angrboda, my beloved wife, of you I am so proud:
The Asen wives are fair and mild, but you are wild and loud.
Three children I have born from you, the three I love so well:
The Midgard Serpent Yormungander, the Fenris Wolf, and Hel.
Defeated now, but by my side in Ragnarök they’ll rise:
With Serpent, Wolf and Underworld, we’ll split the earth and skies.

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill them.

O mighty Odin, Lord of gods, you were the wisest one.
And dared to claim you’d been my friend, had I not killed your son.
You’ve killed my wife and my sons two, now what am I to do?
To bow and smile and kiss your feet and beg and crawl to you?
We’ll meet again at Ragnarök, when all the gods will die.
You’ll pay the price for binding me – you’ll lose more than your eye …

And now I’m lying here. The poison burns my face.
I cannot die in here. Ropes tie me to this place.
But soon enough I will be free, for Ragnarök is yet to be…
and I will kill you.

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Jagdlied

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht
Mein ist die Stimme, hörst du mir auch zu?
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Dein war der Hund, der zuletzt hat gebellt
Dein war der Falke, der zur Erde nun fällt
Dein war das Pferd, das nun schwarz ist von Blut –
Sag, du magst Jagen? Das find ich gut.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Ich lasse dich rennen, bis Blut ist im Schuh
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin der Schatten vom Bär und vom Hirsch.
Ich bin der Wolf und der Fuchs auf der Pirsch.
Ich bin jedes große und kleine Getier.
Ich bin dein Jäger und gleich hinter dir.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Mein ist die Wildnis, das letzte Tabu.
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Dein Haus hast du aus meinen Knochen erbaut,
aus meinem Blut, meinem Horn, meiner Haut.
Die Jagd war dein Spielding, dein Opfer war ich,
So warst du mein Lehrer, denn jetzt jag ich dich.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Du wirst verlieren, ich weiß, was ich tu.
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin das Kindlein, ich wurde nicht alt:
Du hast mich verstoßen, so starb ich im Wald.
Und nun bist du hier, diese Wälder sind mein.
Bin zu jung für Rache – doch Jagen ist fein.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Hetz dich nur ab, ich lass dir keine Ruh
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Ich bin der Jäger … Ich bin der Jäger …

Dein Freund soll dir helfen? Dein Freund ist nicht hier.
Mein ist der Wald, jeder Baum, jedes Tier.
Lauf du nur, lauf, ich zeig dir, wie man rennt –
Dein sind die Knochen, die keiner mehr kennt.

Mein ist der Schemen, der hinter dir schleicht
Mein die Gestalt, die dem Auge ausweicht.
Mein ist die Stimme, hörst du mir auch zu?
Ich bin der Jäger. Die Beute bist du.

Die englische Fassung dieses Liedes ist »Hunting Song«

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My Best Friend’s Blood

I could not kill you, brother, your blood I cannot shed
I’ll never rip your heart out and still I wish you dead
If we would ever meet again, I’d fight with gun, with knife
there’ll never be a chance again for me to take your life.

you once have been my brother, your blood runs in my vein
so if I bring myself to death, you are the one who’s slain
I’ll gladly slit my wrists for you, if only you will bleed
I would have loved to take your life, but nevermore we’ll meet

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain

look here this edge is dripping, the floor is turning wet
the light is growing darker, I feel I’m turning dead
but it is not as if I die, that thing is up to you
for since you took my life away, it’s all that I can do

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain

pray do you feel it thumping?
pray do you feel the pain?
your blood is running down my hands
your blood is red as rain …

Entstanden fül einen Rollenspielcharakter, der Popsänger war –
dieses düstere Lied sollte sein großes Comeback nach Drogenabsturz und Selbstmordversuch werden.

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Mistress Alma’s Children

O Mistress Alma’s children, two girls aged two and three,
have closed their eyes forever, the sun no more to see,
have closed their eyes forever, the sun no more to see,

It was their wicked mother, them of their lives bereft:
She shed their blood, but shed no tear upon this wicked theft,
but burned them by the oven’s flames till nought of them was left.

She next began to weep and wail, and through the streets she’d run,
she cried: »O come and help me, please, my children, they are gone!«
She cried: »O come and help me, please, my children, they are gone!«

»There came three elves from outland, three elves came to my door.
They sang a song so sweet and cold, it chilled me to the core,
they’ve robbed me of my children, I’ll see my babes no more!«

The people in the village, they thought her story true,
for stealing fair young children is what all elves love to do.
For stealing fair young children is what all elves love to do.

And even Alma’s husband would still believe his wife
He thought not that the ashes cold once burned with children’s life,
and as all folks did pity her, the murderess could strife.

But early the next morning when at home alone she’d stay,
three elves did knock at Alma’s door and would not go away.
Three elves did knock at Alma’s door and would not go away.

The first said: »Mistress Alma, the folks believed when you
Said that we stole your children, but you know it is not true.
You know quite well that lying is a wicked thing to do.«

The next said: »Mistress Alma, you murdered them yourself,
and murder is an evil crime not like by men nor elf.
And murder is an evil crime not like by men nor elf.«

The third said: »Mistress Alma, now reach to us your hand.
We have no like for lies like that, I’m sure you’ll understand.«
They left, and Mistress Alma since was seen in no man’s land.

Die deutsche Fassung dieses Liedes ist »Die Kinder der Frau Alma«

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Dieses Lied befindet sich auf dem Album »Garden of the Lost«
Text © 1999 und Melodie © 1993 by Thesilée

Lady Tree

Down in the ground beneath the roots of yonder tree
her bones lie buried deep, for no man’s eyes to see…
He would not love her half as much as he loved gold,
and she would never do whatever she was told:
He had to kill her, that’s one thing he won’t regret:
No one will find her in her earthen bed.

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

The years went by, and yet the lady found no rest –
Killed by the man whom in her life she’d loved the best.
Her spirit touched the tree that grew upon her grave:
If not for justice, then for vengeance she did grave.
The years went by and by, and as the tree did grow,
the lady’s features it would start to show.

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

And then his friends would come and talk about the tree:
»Is it not strange? The thing looks like a girl to me.«
»Her shapes and features just reming me of Madeleyne.«
»Ain’t it a pitty that she’s no where to be seen…«
He listened helplessly, afraid that they could know:
O that deceitful tree would have to go!

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!

He rose next day, that night had brought no sleep, no rest:
To knock that tree right down would simply be the best!
But when he reached the spot where once the grave had been
there was no trunk, no tree – sheer nothing to be seen.
He froze in horror, cruel fear took o’er his mind.
Than hands of leaves would reach out from behind…

Tree, tree, Lady Tree,
– hide my secret where none may seek it –
Tree, tree, Lady Tree
– grow my shape for all to see!
– grow my shape for all to see!
– grow my shape and set me free

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Hunting Song

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the voice that is calling your name.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

Yours were the hounds that will bark nevermore.
Yours was the horse that’s now dripping with gore.
Yours was the goshawk that ne’ermore will fly.
Do you like hunting? Well, so do I.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
I’ll keep you running until you’ve grown lame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the shape of the bear and the stag.
I am the fox and the wolf at your back.
I am the wild boar and I am the roe.
I am your hunter wherever you go.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the wilderness you’ll never tame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

Of my blood and my bones, your castle is built.
I’m every creature that ever you’ve killed.
Of hunting, you’ve taught me a lesson or two,
And well I did learn it, for now I hunt you.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the triumph and yours is the shame.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the shape of the innocent child
That you’ve chased away so I died in the wild.
You’ve come to my forest, now give me a run.
I’m too young for vengeance, but hunting is fun.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Try to outrun me, it still is the same.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

I am the hunter … I am the hunter …

Your friends come to help you? Well I’m not your friend.
Mine is the forest that never will end.
Keep running, keep running, I’ll chase you around –
Yours are the bones that will never be found.

Mine is the shade that is walking behind.
Mine are the footprints you never will find.
Mine is the voice that is calling your name.
I am the hunter. You are the game.

Die deutsche Fassung dieses Liedes ist »Jagdlied«

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Geistergarten

Was ihr heut Garten nennt ist unser Friedhof.
Da hüpft und spielt dein Kind auf meinem Grab.
Dort wo die Büsche sind, da stehn die Steine, so alt und grau,
die Schrift verwittert, doch ich kenne sie genau.

Da stand ein Haus aus schwarzem Stein, darin wohnten wir.
Wir lebten gut, denn wir hatten Macht.
Wir herrschten über jeden Mensch, über jedes Tier
Bis dann das Feuer kam in der Nacht.
Das ist so viele Jahre her, doch nie vorbei …

Das Feuer kam, jedoch durch wen, das erfuhrn wir nicht,
denn es hat keiner den Tag erlebt.
Es fraß uns auf mit seinem gierigen roten Licht
Und unser Zauber war ausgewebt.
Das ist so viele Jahre her, doch nie vorbei …

Weil wir zur Lebzeit so böse warn, wie man sagt,
bracht uns der Tod auch nur Tod, nicht Ruh:
Man hat uns direkt aus dem Himmel wieder verjagt,
wir drehn der Hölle den Rücken zu.
Das ist so viele Jahre her, doch nie vorbei …

Doch liegt im Winter euer Garten tod, öd und kahl,
es wächst kein Blatt, und das Gras ist braun
und ihr schlaft alle tief und fest, dann, mit einem Male
leckt ein Flämmchen am Eisenzaun.
Ihr denkt, das Feuer sei unser Feind? Wir sind sein Herr …

Was ihr jetzt Friedhof nennt, ist unser Garten.
Da hüpft und spielt mein Kind auf deinem Grab.
Wo jetzt noch Steine sind, blüht bald Holunder im Mondenlicht –
Wir sind vergessen, doch vergangen sind wir nicht.

Die englische Fassung dieses Liedes ist »Garden of the Ghosts«

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Garden of the Ghosts

You call it garden fair, but it’s our cemetary.
Your child will skip and dance upon my grave.
And where the bushes grow, you’ll find our stones, they’re so old and grey –
Their words are weathered, but I know what they do say:

The was a castle with black walls and it was our home.
We were magicians of wealth and fame.
We were the lords of every man, every beat to roam
until the night that the fires came.
It was so many years ago, yet it’s not past…

The fire came yet who did light it, we’d never learn
for no one lived till the break of day.
With greedy flames all of our skin, our bones did burn
and all our magic was cast away.
It was so many years ago, yet it’s not past…

But as we lived to be as evil as one can be
no peace nor rest did we find in death:
The realms of Heaven we were never allowed to see.
Send us to hell? Better save your breath!
It was so many years ago, yet it’s not past…

Yet if it’s winter and your garden lies dead and bare,
the leaves are gone and the grass won’t grow
and you are sleeping save and sound, o so unaware
that there’s a spark that begins to glow…
You thought the fire to be our foe? We are its lord…

You call it cemetary, but it’s our garden fair.
My child will skip and dance upon your grave.
And where your stones do lie, you’ll find an elderflower bush in bloom –
you did forget us, but you won’t forget your doom.

Die deutsche Fassung dieses Liedes ist »Geistergarten«

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Fion und Davy

Zwei Brüder erbauten ein Haus sich aus Stein
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Der eine saß nachts mit den Büchern allein,
der andre saß unten mit Freunden beim Wein,
und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Herr Fion war finster, so schwarz wie die Nacht
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Es dürstet sein Herz nach verstohlener Macht,
und niemand sah jemals, dass er mal gelacht,
und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Herr Davy war froh und so hell wie der Mond
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Er hat auf der Jagd keine Gemse verschont
und hätte am Liebsten im Wirtshaus gewohnt,
und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Doch eins hatten beide im Herzen gemein,
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Jung Lioba sollte die ihrige sein,
und jeder sprach bei sich: »Ach, wär sie doch mein!«
Und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Einst ritt Junker Davy hinaus auf die Jagd
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Er hat seinem Bruder Lebwohl nicht gesagt,
und der hat nicht nach seiner Rückkehr gefragt.
Und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

So gingen die Monde, der Himmel war grau
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Herr Fion nahm Jungfer Lioba zur Frau –
er kannte das Grab seines Bruders genau,
und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Doch kalt war die Nacht, als die Eiswinde wehn
In den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Man sah Davys Schemen im Türeingang stehn
Und Fion war nicht mehr im Leben gesehn
Und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Und Davy kommt wieder in Nebel und Wind
in den Bergen so hoch, in den Bergen so kalt.
Er reitet die Jagd wie der Teufel geschwind,
und hört man sein Heulen, fehlt bald schon ein Kind.
Und wenn dort ein Kind lacht, so wird es nicht alt.

Ich leite normalerweise keine Rollenspielabenteuer, aber wenn, mache ich keine halben Sachen: Dieses Lied habe ich nur geschrieben, damit unserem Barde nach einem erfolgreichen Bardenwissen-Wurf dieses Lied einfallen konnte.

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