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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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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.

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