The Camp of Souls

	作曲 : Prassas
	My white canoe, like the silvery air
	O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls
	When the moons of the world are round and fair
	I paddle back from the Camp of Souls
	When the wishtonwish in the low swamp grieves
	Come the dark plumes of the red singing leaves
	Two hundred times have the moons of spring
	Rolled over the bright bay's azure breath
	Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle's wing
	And painted my face with the paint of death
	The camp of souls
	The camp of souls
	And from thy pipe o'er my corpse there broke
	The solemn rings of the blue last smoke
	Two hundred times have the wintry moons
	Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white
	Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
	Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
	The camp of souls
	The camp of souls
	They chanted above me the song of grief
	As I took my way to the spirit land
	For love is the breath of the soul set free
	So I walk a river that darkly rolls
	That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
	Of thine who wait in the Camp of Souls
	When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves
	Come the dark plumes of red singing leaves

	zuò qǔ : Prassas
	My white canoe, like the silvery air
	O' er the River of Death that darkly rolls
	When the moons of the world are round and fair
	I paddle back from the Camp of Souls
	When the wishtonwish in the low swamp grieves
	Come the dark plumes of the red singing leaves
	Two hundred times have the moons of spring
	Rolled over the bright bay' s azure breath
	Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle' s wing
	And painted my face with the paint of death
	The camp of souls
	The camp of souls
	And from thy pipe o' er my corpse there broke
	The solemn rings of the blue last smoke
	Two hundred times have the wintry moons
	Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white
	Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
	Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
	The camp of souls
	The camp of souls
	They chanted above me the song of grief
	As I took my way to the spirit land
	For love is the breath of the soul set free
	So I walk a river that darkly rolls
	That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
	Of thine who wait in the Camp of Souls
	When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves
	Come the dark plumes of red singing leaves