Rungholt (Musik & Text Hannes Landau)

In de letzten Jahunderte söchte manny Sturmfloten de Nordseeküst heim.
Doch de schlimmste fun allen wehr de Marcellusflot.
Wie en Strof Goddes zerstörte de Grode Mandsdränke in dat Johr 1362
de ruhmvolle Stadt Rungholt und let se unnergahn. De Legende sech,
dat man be ruhige Weehr noch hüt Rungholts Glocken lüden hören kann.

My name is Jack O´Reilly, I am from Ireland´s shores,
spice trading is my job and I was witness of the following:
On the coast of Friesland they sell a special kind of salt,
so I set sails and made my way to a town called Rungholt.

„Don`t you care about your coast?“, asked a man,
„Don`t you care about your souls?“
„Your purse is full, I preach in an empty church,
please remember“, said the priest „the lord comes first!“

As I came to the harbour I asked a friendly man
where to find the next salines he showed me them and then
the carving and the ripping of the land scared me a lot.
Pub is full, church is closed, nobody thanks the lord.

Nobody knows what happened to Rungholt, just a legend of boast is told,
I saw it all, its rise and fall, pride was its fate: The end of Rungholt.

The more the priest did warn the more he was ignored,
haughty citizens derided him and the sea did roar.
So I left the market, I didn´t make a deal.
Godlessness and pride, bane of god became real.

Windswept escape, ruthless seaway,
fear on my back, gigantic waves…

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