Antique Lyrics of Arda

[Walküre]

Imagination and fiery passion


The fiery force which life gives,
Which moulds things and shapes the not-defined,
It is this path that matter has conceived, from sheer thought and will,
Yet one needs more, for only an infinite love could fashion reality in a so splendid manner, whereas the fell kind knows only corruption and naught of sincere wit.

[Walküre]

Smear tactics


Along the heath many lies have been spread, as one may hear and notice,
A venomous mouth has told phoney tales, because fear of the Good the common man must have,
And so they say, in truth and dreadful way, that ghosts dwell under the trees of Lórien,
And that a mighty sorceress rules the spirits in there, shaping webs of lies and deceit, to frustrate the knights and to bring nightmare to the farmer who much works on his labour.

[Walküre]

The Lady who does not die


Famous and renowned, awe and fear it might be,
It is nonetheless certain that the people of Gondor know her name,
As an antique Elven Queen, who resides in a golden domain, secluded and hidden from the outer shires of the known World,
And the tale goes, that she wields great power and that time may not menace her never-ending beauty which long ages endured.

[Walküre]

A sad tale


The Lord of Imladris bears the weight of sorrow,
In many facets and numerous ways, as he fought valiant and proud,
Since the last grand conflict of the Elder Days, and all he loved and his shelter he had to defend from the creeping shadow of the East,
Until he bode farewell to his one-time radiant wife and love, for much she suffered and for departure with unceasing desire she had started longing.

[Walküre]

The Moon-city


It is one of the pearls of Gondor for sure,
Carved into malicious stone, beside a realm of terror and tyranny,
Because it is a stronghold, guarded and robust, to watch over and ever-vigilant remain,
At the footsteps of the Evil which in any moment lurks and waits,

And this is certainly a somber of a story, sung in tales and much among the grey ways of the Third Age spoken,
For the Enemy has exactly returned one day,
A nightmare of old times in the past, a gruesome power which the frozen North used to terrorise,
It returned anew, and the fair city of moonlight in horror was turned, ghoulish and horrible for any eye that still cherishes love and honour.

[Walküre]

The burden of the fight


Elves are fair, immortal and the wisest kind that has ever trodden the paths of this world,
Yet their power in the antique times has always been contested by considerable amount of enemies of foul nature,
And here we have finally come, to the end of this idle and grey age,
In which the Elven prowess seems to be on the verge of waning, silent and religious, while the heavy burden of the fight to the mortal race shall be inexorably appointed.

[Walküre]

Something may be written on the paper


It is not always that one may dig into the dust of the past,
If not with distant rumours that people like to spread and murmur,
Yet the ones before us may have been wiser than the common knowledge might think,
For traces and remnants might be hidden in words and decaying paper, secured and from the hostile sight safeguarded.

[Walküre]

The fortress is faltering


We may clearly sense, and feel and hear,
That the last bastion of High Men is succumbing to fear,
The wobbly rule does not seem to grasp, and rarely does their gaze turn to the holy West,
As the hour gets much grim and from all sides of the ends flourishes the sheer unrest.

[Walküre]

The hearth is still lit, for friends


Any Dwarven soul knows, that the hearth is ever-lit for the amicable company,
As it should be in both merry and ill fate, when friends may go yonder for a quest and spend much time of glory, or when they lie proud and royal on a burial stone, undimmed the memory and the hero lone.

[Walküre]

Mesmerise


What is it that anything of Elven type seems to shine?
Bright and radiant, it is ever-lit and always kindled,
There is that mysterious aura which no art of mortals may mirror,
And we are always caught in joy and splendid spectacle, in the moment in which our inner conscience is mesmerised.

[Walküre]

A torch in the night

Minas Tirith.


Thou shalt be the last shield of ours in the hour of peril,
The stone which vicious wind and water faceth in strong endurance,
A torch in the eerie night that this grim era representeth,
But also a vigilant sentinel beside the mountains of doom, from whence the Evil shall probably spread soon.

[Walküre]

The ways of solace


Gentle Hobbit, the ways of solace thou wilt leave in good time,
This is due to a quest which thou hast longed deeply in thy heart,
And perilous challenges await thee too,
Pray, thou shalt live up to the task and thy life thou wilt then have totally changed.

[Walküre]

The sea, which naught might tame


Why dost thou try in vain? Why art thou willing to tame the waves?
Why dost thou want to control the blue through which mighty armies paved their way?
None may and all yearning that shall fail,
For those ways are never completely trodden and an indomitable force dwelleth in the water, and over anything below the surface it reigneth and ruleth.

[Walküre]

The grievous harvest


Much along lands and souls hath been sowed,
Within the intricate thread of time which hath constantly flowed,
Thou hast surely its signs seen, and the burden thou bearest,
Of Arda in sad times and horror the grievous harvest.

[Walküre]

The trap


While the Lidless Eye on the united host shall be focused,
The humble hero shall pass through venomous ground and ashes,
Because he must reach the peak and crack where all has started,
To throw the Evil in the very fire it has often made usage of for its dark arts of obscurity.