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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Tombs they began to raise, as if death were of better note


Aye, little Hobbit, hither the city-sentinel of Gondor has been established by the wise rule of the past monarchs, who greatly yearned a future of peace and sunny days ahead of them to come, but they were also into defence and guarding, as never hazard ought to be given the chance of surprise, and so the stronghold prospered, sheltered by the stone in which it was carved, watching over the fate of the human fortunes in this world, although the erstwhile wisdom of the West was quite abandoned in the dust of passing time, and greater tombs they began to raise in much apprehension, as if death were of better note than the living whom the kings were meant to protect.

Walküre:
Misty Peaks


Misty Peaks, who stand silent and lonesome as the thread of events advances in the inevitability of our case, you were home of a mighty rule and success for Dwarves as a whole, renowned and praised, your wealth was hard to uncover, but reward unthinkable treasures to light has brought, enriching kings and industrious lords beneath the mountain rocks.

Evil belongs to the equation as well, alas, for your deep pits were perfect lairs of monsters and slithering dangers always on the alert, along with attracting the desire of Orcs to seize gold and power, and the darkest abysses of your bones were also refuge of unknown beings whose names were lost, and even of the flames of demonic nature that Arda since the ancient ages had no longer beheld.

Walküre:
Infesting the broad sea


As for lands that are endangered by the awakening of turmoil in the East, Gondor must face equally another threat approaching its coastal frontier,
Pirates sail from unknown harbours from the dry and wide South, which serve as secure bases for their raiding and pillaging that so much they seem to enjoy,
Black banners are hoisted in the broad sea, aboard vessels of thieving and brutal barbarism which civilisation is to put at risk,
Gondor must hoist the colours of Númenor too, for the old mastery of marine crafting and governance cannot be matched at all, if we are to hope that filthy waters shall soon be made clean.

Walküre:
Mourning a son


Such an atrocious turn of fate the loss of your kin must be,
When the elders are to outlive and survive the very sons to whom they have given merry birth,
We may thus imagine the immense grievous mind of our horse-lord king, who has indeed beheld plenty of death, toil and ruin along the paths of his celebrated history,
Pray, let us comfort him in the utmost time of urgency and need, for a leader needs us guide amidst darkness and perilous events, to withstand the challenge of time, while proceeding towards triumph through strife and swords that soon are to be wielded.

Walküre:
The fiery sword of the Iron Crown


He is grandest out of the fell servants of the Iron Crown which the undoing of Arda much desireth,
Supreme and prime of the Flames, reigning over fire and by sheer night surrounded,
The utter slaying of the Eldar with never-ending obsession he craveth,
Together with the royal kind whose enchanted blades the flesh of fiery Maiar as well wound may.

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