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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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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.

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