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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
Willing or not, the city leave we may not


Gallant friend of mine, far you are from the warmth of your home among amicable faces and joyful labour, having we come in the moment of final unveiling, at the court of those who retain in the world the leadership we might desperately need,
Behold these fortresses and strongholds of old, whose fine stone has proven harder than a multitude of vicious tricks,
The wind is blowing and roaring from distant ends, signalling the beginning of a last test of utmost note, when Men wander without wit and the only one who could ultimately unite them all under banners of glory,
Soon the clear sky is to be covered by ashes of doom, as the adversary sends his deadliest servant for the capture of this last wall of ours, on which we rely even in dubious thoughts, and so prayers of mercy and victory resound across these fortified halls, carrying sorrowful laments and scarce traces of confidence in a well-boding fight.

Walküre:
The knights have returned!


The knights have returned and sound they make their way home,
Where the warmth of beloved ones them awaits, after they did travel and much roam,
The woes of the world shall be mended another day,
Today belongs to love, in their heart in which valour always lay.

Walküre:
Snow eternal and ever-fair


On the height of the Holy Mountain, seat of your diamond-made throne,
Above all else in Arda, prime temple of power, yet never solitary or lone,
There is eternal snow that glows in the night, not melted by heat and ever-fair,
It glows as you do, Queen of starred heavens, as your deeds in the firmament in their magnificent flare.

Walküre:
Be it token that difference makes


No longer shall its shards be mourned, pitied as grievous heirloom of sorrowful past,
It has been made anew, destined to passed on to noble hands and forever to last,
The broken blade is no painful memory which burdens mankind, testimony of weakness and fate that goes fell,
I vow, it is to cut your foul foes asunder, for in the desolate hour the sacred sword shall reflect your legend and serve you well.

Walküre:
Thou shalt be given the right and just


Innumerable riddles lie hidden along all routes and paths which thou mayest voyage through,
Arda hath been built on foundations of doubts and so shall it rest unto the tale's ending,
Tribulation might be a bitter cordial to taste, made perhaps worse by storms assembling in the clear blue,
Fearest thou the test of the coming future? Thou dost not have to, my wise mind, and dreadful tempest shall make thee better instead, for thou shalt be given the right and just, against all woes, tricks and snares.

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