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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Do you dread those mines?


Do you dread those deep mines, Gandalf?
Rumours tell and much say, that the vivid hearth has worn out and paved the way for obscure figures lurking in the caverns below,
As infesting illness and unwanted guests they have multiplied their number, claiming that realm as their lair,
Drums in the void of those gloomy chambers began to resound and froze the will of the valorous warrior, fortified and defending the last hall.

There is more I need narrate, my fellow wizard, for fell fire and shadow emerged too from the abyss, and so deeply it was entombed, as the demons of the elder age whom all forgot fain.

Walküre:
A newer era, yet dimmer and pale


Bad weather has passed and left the skies of our present, finally and at the decisive moment of the strife,
New king of ours, take these wailing lands in your wise hands and may your decree avail all who reside within the ends of your reign,
The immortal ones have elected departure from decay, bequeathing a continent that strongly seeks peace and quiet times,
A newer era presents itself to the eyes of the resilient survivors, yet dimmer and pale, for magic shall abandon this shore and never return.

Walküre:
To thee only


To thee, to thee only,
Power was given to rule wholly,
Thou shalt behold the eras of thy kingdom progressing,
Unto the final darkening of heavens, when Arda the most will be in need of thy blessing.

Walküre:
He does not understand such thing


His brother he's always loved and cared for,
Infinite kindness was always the guide of his doing,
The just criterion of his imperative decree,
Even if that was flaw rather than immaculate virtue,
As flaws are nonetheless part of the Angels, as for the merest man,
Too merciful he often has been, for he does not understand such thing,
The nature of malice and its true reason in the holistic design,
A magnanimous father, aching his heart and suffering him inside, for evil deeds he deems betrayal from one who the right path could take.

Walküre:
Piercing the most terrible night


Doom or renewed hope? None could have unveiled the riddle,
At the sunset of the third era, in which two sides all should choose, being no chance in the middle,
Dark or Light, servitude in chains or prosperity in a realm that thrives,
The gleams of your far craft have never left our sight, and even in dire tribulation and plight they have lit that remote space in a pure flare above the air, piercing the terrible night of our times, just to spark a glare of bliss and ease our sad lives.

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