The rains of castamere

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Vers: George R. R. Martin, erweitert von Inka Napiwotzki und Uwe Höpner
Melodey: Ramin Djawadi

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws,
and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere,
but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

Here I stand as large as you, daring you my lord,
the rock is not the only place fit for the golden dragons hoard.
Thus wet the rain the lion’s pelt not abiding any harm,
dropped on his coat and baring fangs, heralds of the storm.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere,
but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

Drying off his crimson coat the lion left his den.
The single sound his mighty roar swallowing the rain.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere,
but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.