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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Amok he must be wandering, for now...


The Tyrant? Amok he must be wandering now, along ways unknown and forbidden in the deep East of this earth, of which many are seriously frightened and no accurate tale as just account we may dispose of,
Who in the world might travel thither safe and unspoilt? Who could find the reason of his voyaging in such abandoned wastes, forsaken by grace and beauty?
For now, I feel like saying, in that the Evil holds return as an unceasing flame which its own interiors keeps on devouring in hunger, and naught evil entities learn,
For always they yearn reappearance in the broad Middle-earth, to move pawns again and war to wage, yet never their past mistakes they are likely to comprehend.

Walküre:
Dreadful coming


I wonder and ponder, whether the Emperor of all evil might break out from his prison, one terrible day of doom for anyone breathing on the surfaces of the earth,
Chaos would follow and sheer havoc in the world once again shall be brought,
The ramparts of Arda would not perhaps resist, in the darkest hour, and they would fail in sustaining such sudden burden of calamity,
Another war shall be dreadful consequence of the tale, striving the Powers still to win the foe who never content may be, foundations being shattered in the process and death spread hither and yonder.


None but Manwë, Varda and Mandos knows what the End is to entail. The end of the world and Arda itself. Yet, something is very certain and plain as the sunlight of morning. The Evil, its ancestral source, has been banished and thrown in the desperation of the lifeless void of Eä. Were Morgoth to come back, that would be the prologue of the most terrible cataclysm which has befallen in the annals of the world. The very foundations of the earth will tremble and suffer due to the battle arising. All shall be broken, but hope finds a place in this ultimate divination: Ilúvatar shall mend flaws and an everlasting harmony is to be the final result.

Walküre:
He is a doer, she is a giver


Aulë, matter he hath in government and control, for all its riddles he may solve,
None knoweth what might possibly be of a simple fashion, once his blessed hands labour and industriously shape, as the Smith is doer of grand deeds and teacher of infinite number of secret skills,
His wife green anew maketh and it growing she beholdeth in joy,
So much Yavanna to the world hath given, being her giver of fruits, wheat and shelter for beasts and for whom under trees dwelleth.

Walküre:
Frozen distances


So long Men have wailed the destiny of their past realm in the North, founded and ruled by the very first king of both realms and of all who survived the utter catastrophe facing the arrogance of Númenor,
Frozen now lies the pride of Arnor, and ruined throughout silent hills, which serve crawling monsters at the present moment and are dwelling of creeping horrors,
A stain on Men's dignity, and clear example of the misery of disunity in such turmoil, when the awful enemy cunningly awaited the proper time and finally to reclaim the spoils of victory he appeared in the end,
The regency of the South no longer in the northern lore is interested, the memory being painful and troublesome the current years, and they should probably remember what has been before the millennium, in order to regret those blunders and the guard ever-high to maintain.


Not only jubilation the past of Men comprises. The old northern kingdom had first been raised and established by Elendil, leader of the loyal party of Númenor and first monarch of the kingdoms in exile, once the Five-pointed Island sank into the broad western seas. After the defeat of Sauron during the harsh siege of Mordor, the Third Age opened its gates well and wide to the renewed Men, confident and proud of the suffering victory they had achieved through death and desperation. Arnor stood in those days tall and majestic; the greatest of the two realms and stronger than its southern twin. Yet, the wheel of doom determined a different course that would later unfold. Fate and time forced the North to bend and kneel, overburdened by concern, worried by awakening nightmares along the surrounding fell hills and, most importantly, devoured internally by strife and disputes. Thus, when the wicked winter paved its way to the chessboard of northern geopolitics, Sauron's deadliest servant had naught to do but waiting for the civil war to maul what was left of the ancient domain of the North. And, albeit the forces of night being fended off by the concerted effort of Gondor and Rivendell, only ruins remained to be grave testimony of the tragedy that was. Alas, very little interested did the Stewards grow in the lore regarding the agonising kingdom.

Fools. Past always offers good teaching, when mind and ears are ready to listen to the far murmurs of antiquity.

Walküre:
Clothed with shame and misery


Dirty robes and decaying visage, this is just retribution for thy disgraceful deeds,
Fallen figure of authority and might, thou bearest the burden of treason and treacherous snares,
Piety ought not to be granted, for whom in deceptive designs still dwelleth,
Aye, may the word be spread and plain, clothed with shame and misery thou art.

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