Antique Lyrics of Arda

[Walküre]

Wounds which never might be cured


Wounds which might not be healed,
Unfortunately, it's the fate we're all obliged to abide to,
Whether by the slow progression of time or by the fell hand, Arda shall suffer and strive still to survive the passing of each era,
Which is the kind of these crimes, I wonder? Their nature and reason, as naught is really product of vain thoughts in the wicked design.

Diverse are the signs of the tainted land and marred earth,
It may be nature wailing and being tortured by means of foul arts,
The fatal hour was, however, during the times ancient and elder, as the Dark Lord clung to the very world he sought to lay waste and shared his power with what and whom he crafted in his malice,
Of prime note are wars, indeed, in which the Powers too headed out from their sacred shire and contested the supremacy in Eä, yet conflict is ever-clearly a harbinger of ruin, for the Blessed Realm is equally feared and dreaded by whichever foe, and so peaks are torn asunder, rivers shattered and upset, seas disappear and are made anew, while Arda cries and mourns for its inevitable destiny that none may avert.

[Walküre]

Nay-sayer, from the very beginning


Prior to matter, and time and space,
Pure thought commanded the Reign before Reigns, once home to a sole blessed race,
The Enemy was still deemed mighty and grandiose, longing for the allegiance of others of the akin sort,
She was a nay-sayer from the beginning of all, divining his malicious and ill-wishing design, turning down the offer, and against all snares the Eldar her invoke, eternal fortress of beatitude and for any vessel safe port.

[Walküre]

The tide


Impetuous waves and stormy seas,
The thread of time is also chaos, wild and never simple to seize,
The tide is moving rapidly and towards different courses it hath swung,
Unfortunate is the outcome of whom was tempted to decide, in the infuriating river that floweth ever-astray, to which some may have sombrely clung.

[Walküre]

We still dispose of time


We still dispose of time, precious time indeed,
Were the Enemy to commence the last war, any moment shall be of the utmost relevance, if we are to succeed,
Stringent peril compels one to act firmly and with strong-willed resolution,
We still have allies on our side as well, yet many are wary of our quest and so hearts ought to be rekindled to allegiance once again, in order to permit one to wield a sword and to the broad plan to give one's own decisive contribution.

[Walküre]

Over all it towers


Light, pure light which life gifts, all makes lit and hope allows to persist,
They say it's the sign and foremost testimony of the One who dwells above the borders of this universe itself,
Eras unknown to the most but the Ainur of bright radiance and noble composure, and the Queen of Valinor is said to emanate such a force in full spectacle, the likes of which none might find outside the ramparts of the very earldoms of the Powers,
Snow-white, clothed with paradise, the most splendid gem she is even among her own blessed kind, and if Manwë is not to be questioned in his imperative decree, her wife rules over Light itself that towers above all, be it Air, Water, Wood or Stone.

[Walküre]

Vicious as very few


Who knoweth which uncanny art hath been behind, as one is told in the tale?
That horrible nightmare emerged from the northernmost pits, as the Dark Lord his opponents with terror had thitherto chained, and then came the hour of such vicious bane,
Ashes and carbon they would chew, and of fell fire was their breath, deadly and venomous, for this is always the case for any devilry that from the caverns of Angband arose,
It meant atrocious fate for whom fought for survival and to the valiant forces of the Good the most dreadful woes.

[Walküre]

Countless Tears


All shall weep and just mourn, albeit grief being not to be softened nor eased,
It is one of those grand clashes, ferocious contests, during the wars for the Jewels,
Much hope was in the hearts of the Eldar, resolute to break the chain of dread and strike against the common foe for any decent dweller of that blood-stained territory,
Alas, that wish was far and naught else but silly imagination from the Good's party, for the legions of the night were many, although treason was origin of all those terrible woes that afterwards grimly befell.


The Battle of Countless Tears was the last major clash of the War of the Jewels, prior to the resolving War of Wrath which closed the series of tragedy in the pages of the mournful tales of Beleriand. The very battle and its appalling aftermath were ominous signs of how the following course of the general war would unfold. The Eldar marched sure and confident under the banners of a renewed alliance of intent, although many were the rivalries that lay beneath and frustrated the prospect of a concerted action against Morgoth. The unquestionable leaders were the remaining kin of Fëanor, massacred and decimated by the Evil in the erstwhile centuries. The core of the grand army was, however, comprised of the people of Ñolofinwë, led by his son, Fingon, who had just bequeathed the immense honour and burden which the high kingship of the Noldor entailed. Despite thorough strategies, all was to bode very ill for the ranks of the immortal ones, aided by the Edain, their most truthful allies. The Dark Lord had in fact made sure to gain, by means of bogus promises, the servitude of those human tribes that had come from the easternmost ends of the world; rustic people, neither used to valour nor bound by bonds of trust to anyone. The seed of betrayal was therefore sown and Morgoth prepared so well for the approaching challenging, unleashing all sorts of horrors from the caverns of the Iron Fortress. And most gruesome among those fell opponents were his Balrogs, the Flames of Morgoth, whose fiery whips and blades slew the High King of the Noldor in the worst of the manners.

[Walküre]

Grace of thine


Grace of thine, it is what giveth us joy and love,
Thou canst hearken to anything, within thy halls of ether, above,
Thou shalt grant satisfaction to our pleas, we are ever-sure,
Queen of Stars, Light and gem of the firmament in the ancient lore.

[Walküre]

Kindler of all that is worth beholding


Aye, one just cannot ignore your ancient labours across distances with no matter,
Even if ignorance clouds one's wit, your very first gift to the earth was that light,
That light which naught ever tainted, none may reach for, far off amidst the blue,
Imperishable as adamant and eternal as eternal is the existence of any Elf, Angel or Archangel of your kindred sort.

Be it warm radiance or pale gleams in cool nights of joyful summer, be it those stars in heaven that are your proudest craft, be it lost light which ever-alive dwells in tales of old, you are without doubt kindler of all that is worth beholding in this world.

[Walküre]

Maiden of merriment


Merry maiden of messy locks,
Your spirited buoyancy would clearly melt the hardest man, stone and rocks,
Courteous is your gentle touch, as tender and soft as a hand in a glove,
Witty you are as well, to know from whom you must get off and whom in truth deserves your love.

[Walküre]

Maiden of valour


Valiant maiden of the cold heath, verily you are much used both to strife and harsh chill,
Naught of raw and rough nature has ever bent your adamant will,
To serve whom you deem your noble king, and to graciously help the one who is feeble and in need,
Anything fell your brave temper shall dread, for you are Shield-maiden of Rohan and destined our hope to lead.

[Walküre]

Maiden of might


Mighty maiden of legends and antique tales, thou art radiant gem in the firmament of all our old annals, stories and lays,
Strong and proud, justness hath always been thy lighthouse through stormy seas, thou who from shires immortal hast come, ancient sacred soil and for mortals untrodden ways,
Sorceress of joy and light, princess in paradise and Elven queen in the grey age, in melodies we sing of thee and of thy grand deeds in the lands of suffering and wailing,
Awaiting the hour of thy parting, sailing to the realm holy and lit, whither thou wast bound to return, in the moment of decay and fading.

[Walküre]

Justice wields a sword


Seldom has Justice never wielded a sword,
As retribution may come through punishment and ruthless word,
Indeed, malice often ought to be countered with a decent blade,
Which is will of ardent sort that all gallant has made.

[Walküre]

They care not


They just care not, nowadays, those greedy Dwarves of secluded spirit; much busy with amassing riches they are and very little do the troubles of others worry their industrious doing, although the failure of one might be disastrous doom for them in the future, for this has been ever-clear in my mind, that the Evil would rather toy with one and sow discord, so that those would could prove worthy opponents are instead weakened, divided and thus close to defeat, under the cruel yoke of foes who mercy have never known.

Perhaps, should the Dwarven kind find the proper purpose and resolution, the worst nightmare for any foul lord they shall be, resilient to fire, darkness and any sort of treacherous tricks.

[Walküre]

Simple merchants, you say?


Simple merchants? I'm wary of that, my gentle guest,
Ill-intentioned are many along these ways, who are envious and one's decency test,
Beware of the greedy ruler of this lake-town, lest he be made angry and furious,
Your mere fashion betrays the ones you in truth are, and you are noble lords and keepers of a treasure stupendous.