FLORIANE BLANCKE
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Dermot Byrne & Floriane Blancke

La Clairière

​Tu prendras le p'tit chemin 
​Qui mène au petit bois,
Et si c'est tot le matin,
Il fera peut etre froid,
La marche te réchauffera.

Tout en écoutant les bruits
Qui marquent le bout de la nuit,
Tu garderas dans ton coeur 
Chaque couleur et chaque odeur,
Comme si c'était la première fois.
Une fleur de chèvrefeuille 
S'offrira sans doute à toi,
Et si tu n'hésite pas
A gouter son nouveau miel,
Elle t donnera des ailes.

Lalalalalalalalai
Tu descendras dans le bois,
pour traverser la rivière,
Tu prendras le pont de pierre,
Bien-sur tu n'oublieras pas
De ramasser des cailloux plats.

Tu les glisseras, précieux,
Tout au fond de tes deux poches,
Tu continueras la marche
Jusqu'au bord de l'étang bleu,
Mais tu n't'y arrèt'ras pas.
Là-bas t'attend la clairière
Qui a vu notre amour naitre,
Le soleil est arrivé,
Il te montrera du doigt,
Le chaine au coeur gravé.
A son pied tu t'allongeras,
Dans tes yeux, son vert feuillage,
Dansera pres des nuages, 
L'air rempli de du chant joyeux
De ses oiseaux amoureux.

Puis tu fermeras les yeux,
Dans ton coeur nous serons deux,
J'aurais mis ma roble bleue?
Nous danserons ,une derniere fois,
Pour nous dire, enfin, adieu.

Sur le chemin du retour,
Pour entendre encore les mots,
De nos serments murmurés,
Tu feras des ricochets dont tu compteras les sauts.
lalalalalallal

Tu longeras la rivière, 
Sans regarder en arriere,
Tout en fredonnant cet air,
Tu cueilleras la bruyère,
Pour mettre à ta boutonnière.
En refermant la fenetre
De notre paradis terrestre,
Encore empli de  notre amour,
T'emporteras dans ta mémoire,
​Le souvenir de la clairière.

​Annie Voisin
  "Kaleidoscope" 

Crazy Man Micheal
Within the fire and out upon the sea
Crazy Man Michael was walking
He met with a raven with eyes black as coals
And shortly they were a-talking

"Your future, your future, I would tell to you
Your future, you often have asked me
Your true love will die by your own right hand
And Crazy Man Michael will cursed be"

Michael he ranted and Michael he raved
And beat at the four winds with his fists-oh
He laughed and he cried, he shouted and he swore
For his mad mind had trapped him with a kiss-oh

"You speak with an evil, you speak with a hate
You speak for the devil that haunts me
For is she not the fairest in all the broad land?
Your sorceror's words are to taunt me"

He took out his dagger of fire and of steel
And struck down the raven through the heart-oh
The bird fluttered long and the sky it did spin
And the cold earth did wonder and start-oh

"Oh, where is the raven that I struck down dead
That here'd lie on the ground-oh?
I see but my true love with a wound so red"
Her lover's heart it did pound-oh

Crazy Man Michael, he wanders and walks
And talks to the night and the day-oh
But his eyes they are sane and his speech it is clear
And he longs to be far away-oh

Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes
And asks the wild woods their pardon
For his true love is flown into every flower grown
And he must be keeper of the garden

Richard Thompson



Don't Stand at my Grave and Weep
​

Don't Stand at my Grave and weep
I'm not there i do not sleep
I'm a thousand wind that blow
I'm the diamond that glints on snow
I'm the Sunlight on ripened grained
I'm the gentle autumn rain

When you awake in the morning hush
I'm the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in Circle flight
I'm the star shine of the night
I'm the bird that sing
I amin each lovely thing

I'm in the flowers that bloom
I am in a quiet room
I am the soft falling snow 
Just like the sea and the sand
Don't stand at my grave and cry
I'm not there i did not die

Margaret Frye/Floriane Blancke


Molly na gCuach Ní Chuilleanáin
​

Ar meisce cha dtéim níos mó
Braon leanna go deo ní bhlaisfidh mé
Ó chaill mé mo chailín beag óg
A chuireadh i mo phócaí an t-airgead.
Curfá
Is fada liom uaim í, uaim í
Is fada liom uaim í ó d´imigh sí
Is fada liom thíos agus thuas í
Molly na gcuach Ní Chuilleanáin.
Dhéanfaidh mé tigh ar an ard
Is beidh ceithre ba bainne breaca agam
Is ní ligfidh mé 'n duine dá gcomhair
Ach Molly dheas bhán Ní Chuilleanáin.
Curfá
Dá mbeinnse i ndeacair an bháis
Is na daoine a rá nach dtiocfainn as
Ní dhéanfainn mo thiomna go brách
Go dtiocfadh Moll Bhán Ní Chuilleanáin.
Curfá
Bhí mise lá ar an choill
Is tharla dom soilse bhrádóige
Dhéanfadh sí marbhán beo
Nó buachaill deas óg den tseanduine.
Curfá

​Traditional

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