Результаты поиска по запросу "fill my power"
Я его закончил!!!
2 дня работы. 8699840 пикселей. Дофига стертых нервов. И все же я перевел в цвет!!!
Переведите, пожалуйста, хотя бы по пару куплетов кому не жалко. Спасибо.
High above the mucky-muck, castle made of clouds,
There sits Wonderboy, sitting oh so proudly.
Not much to say when you're high above the mucky-muck.
Yeah, yeah.
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man?
[spoken]
Now it's time for me to tell you about Young Nastyman,
archrival and nemesis of Wonderboy, with powers comparable to Wonderboy.
What powers you ask? I dunno how 'bout the power of flight?
That do anything for ya? That's levitation, holmes.
How 'bout the power to kill a yak from 200 yards away...
with mind bullets! That's telekinesis, Kyle.
How 'bout the power to move you?
[sung]
History of Wonderboy and Young Nastyman,
Riggah-goo-goo, riggah-goo-goo.
A secret to be told, a gold chest to be bold,
And blasting forth with three-part harmony, yeow!
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man?
[spoken]
Well, Wonderboy and Young Nastyman joined forces;
they formed a band the likes of which have never been seen,
and they called themselves Tenacious D. That's right,
[sung]
Me! And KG!
[KG (spoken):] That's me.
[sung]
We're now Tenacious D!
Come fly with me, fly!
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man,
Oh!
[spoken]
Take my hand!
Young Nastyman, and we'll fly!
Bring out your broadsword.
There's the hydra.
Slice his throat!
And grab his scroat.
You take the high road,
I'll take the low.
There, the crevasse,
Fill it with your mighty juice.
High above the mucky-muck, castle made of clouds,
There sits Wonderboy, sitting oh so proudly.
Not much to say when you're high above the mucky-muck.
Yeah, yeah.
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man?
[spoken]
Now it's time for me to tell you about Young Nastyman,
archrival and nemesis of Wonderboy, with powers comparable to Wonderboy.
What powers you ask? I dunno how 'bout the power of flight?
That do anything for ya? That's levitation, holmes.
How 'bout the power to kill a yak from 200 yards away...
with mind bullets! That's telekinesis, Kyle.
How 'bout the power to move you?
[sung]
History of Wonderboy and Young Nastyman,
Riggah-goo-goo, riggah-goo-goo.
A secret to be told, a gold chest to be bold,
And blasting forth with three-part harmony, yeow!
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man?
[spoken]
Well, Wonderboy and Young Nastyman joined forces;
they formed a band the likes of which have never been seen,
and they called themselves Tenacious D. That's right,
[sung]
Me! And KG!
[KG (spoken):] That's me.
[sung]
We're now Tenacious D!
Come fly with me, fly!
Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?
Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man,
Oh!
[spoken]
Take my hand!
Young Nastyman, and we'll fly!
Bring out your broadsword.
There's the hydra.
Slice his throat!
And grab his scroat.
You take the high road,
I'll take the low.
There, the crevasse,
Fill it with your mighty juice.
Rhapsody - Symphony Of Enchanted Lands (1998)
Я не понимаю, почему эту музыку называют Power Metal. Лично я никакого павера здесь не слышу. Вообще. Слишком сопливая музычка. Хотя песенки неплохие.
Would you like to see Russia rule again
My friend?
All you have to do is follow the worms
My friend?
All you have to do is follow the worms
She had fought alongside Eldrad in battles and debated his cause in counselling Chambers across the galaxy, but never before had she been welcomed into his sanctum. The Opener of the Seventh Way hated the feeling that she was privileged in some way, that this act was a recognition of her status and importance. Even so, she could not help but feel she had been allowed to look upon something few others could, so she took the opportunity to examine her surroundings in some detail, memorising every piece of furniture and ornament, every artwork, in the hopes of deciphering meaning from them later.
The farseer’s tastes were eclectic – if one was too polite to say random, gauche and prolific. At least, such was Yvraine’s initial thought as she sat on a long couch, the trail of her immaculately tailored Commorraghan court dress heaped around her. She was reminded of the throne rooms of archons that had tried to woo her – romantically and politically – laden with trophies of conquests and subjugations, declarations of power and prestige.
Except that Eldrad barely glanced at them. And his displays, such as they were, had been confined to a set of three chambers that would barely qualify as an archon’s cloakroom. In fact, it was the lack of space, except for the high-vaulted ceilings customary in aeldari architecture, that reinforced the meandering, unkempt nature of the collection.
‘It is just…’ began Eldrad, sensing Yvraine’s thoughts as her eyes roamed the room. He searched for a suitable aeldari word and found nothing that quite fitted and so settled for one of the few perfect human words instead. ‘Stuff.’
Yvraine realised immediately what he meant. These were not heirlooms or trophies, treasured possessions or valued research materials. They were cultural accretions. The accumulation of a life that had spanned five generations of his people. They had been placed with no consideration at all, simply fitted into whatever space had seemed right at the time, and never given a second thought.
He had not even spared them the mental effort of how to discard them.
She stood and gracefully paced to the adjoining chamber for a better view, her long gown sweeping across the red floor tiles. Alorynis looked up from his position on the back of a couch, one eye open, and then settled again, uninterested in her exploration.
The room beyond the archway was almost full with miscellany from a hundred different cultures across a dozen races. Most of it was piled like the spoil heap of a museum, the effluvia of fashions, trends, fads and philosophies as old as Ulthwé itself.
‘Why?’ She did not turn as she asked the question. ‘What is the point of having so much…stuff?’
‘Badges of allegiance. Patronage of artists. Objects of psychic significance I used to trace the fates. Bequeathed artefacts. Ambassadorial bribes. Grave goods. The gifts of suitors. Items absent-mindedly left by visitors. Borrowed objects, equally forgotten.’ The farseer shrugged, his heavy robes barely moving with the gesture. Yvraine caught a tiny flutter of pain, of ancient aching in the body and soul, attuned to his mood and thoughts through their mutual contact with Ynnead. ‘I have another tower, a dozen rooms filled with such detritus of my long life.’
‘I forget how old you are,’ said Yvraine. She sat down again, flicking open her fan in the manner of a kabalite courtier. She regarded the seer over the serrated edge, her smirk hidden. ‘How very old you are.’
‘Old enough to know better than trade quips with the likes of you,’ replied Eldrad, humour in his voice.
[Excerpt | Rise of the Ynnari:Ghost Warrior]
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