:: Celtic Blood - Historia e Cultura Celta ::

Celta - Significa "Povo do Segredo" e vem do grego "Keltoi". Hail to Boudicca!
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[::..Arquivo..::]
[::..Recomendados..::]
:: Blog da Annix ::
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:: Muro de Berlim ::
:: Inicio das Cruzadas::
:: SUFI - Dervixes Rodopiantes::
:: Historia Celta - Os Guerreiros Fianna::
:: Historia Celta - O guerreiro celta encontra o Santo Irlandes::
[::..Aviso!..::]
:: Visitem minha nova pagina sobre os Guerreiros celtas Fianna.::
[::..Aviso 2..::]
:: Visitem minha nova pagina sobre o encontro entre Oisin e Sao Patricio.::

:: sábado, abril 27, 2002 ::

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Você acessou o Celtic Blood. Por problemas técnicos - falta de computador - este blog ainda não foi atualizado. Mas não desista, dentro de mais alguns dias voltaremos à nossa programação normal.

*beep*
:: Cato 12:54 AM [+] ::
...
:: sexta-feira, abril 05, 2002 ::
Loki's Song
Mikal Hrafspa (Mikal the Ram)

I was born in battle's fire
Laid beside my mother's corpse
My toys the ravens of the field
My lullabies the screams of horse
But when that storm god you all praise
Walks the earth and shatters trees
You huddle close beside my gift
And whisper prayers beside the spit
And as the woodsmoke turns and twists
You owe your lives to sly Loki.

Odin saw me on the field
And recognized his bastard son
There he claimed me for his own
Heir to all that he had won

But when that storm god you all praise
Walks the earth and shatters trees
You huddle close beside my gift
And whisper prayers beside the spit
And as the woodsmoke turns and twists
You owe your lives to sly Loki.

I am the slyest of the gods
Fire is the gift I gave
I am swifter than the wind
And none can match the tricks I've played

But when that storm god you all praise
Walks the earth and shatters trees
You huddle close beside my gift
And whisper prayers beside the spit
And as the woodsmoke turns and twists
You owe your lives to sly Loki.

What is the honor they give me?
Denied a seat in Odin's hall
Forbidden fruits from Idun's tree
And cast outside of Asgard's walls

But when that storm god you all praise
Walks the earth and shatters trees
You huddle close beside my gift
And whisper prayers beside the spit
And as the woodsmoke turns and twists
You owe your lives to sly Loki.

So sit beside the fires gleam
And count the wrongs that I have borne
I wait for Ragnarok and dream
Hark! Is that the battles horn?


:: Cato 12:19 PM [+] ::
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