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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
The new age


A new age is plain to see,
After chaos and massacre that made many flee,
A new world before whom wishes to stay,
Alas, not all was mended and future could be a hazardous way.

Walküre:
Something to battle


I shall give you something to battle,
When you see that hell is getting close,
Safe you are no more,
Flight or fight, what should you do?

Behold such tragedy!
The plight of the innocent,
Trapped in the foul war,
As his realm crumbles asunder, not able to strike back.

May you rot in your misery,
Traitorous wizard, versed in the inequity of treachery,
You set the wheel of industry in motion,
Forging dreadful spikes, blade and steel which kill.

Everyone knows the purpose of such relentless endeavour,
To wipe out from history the race of Men,
Aligned with the tyrant of the East,
This should be purpose enough clear for the decent to counter and battle.

Walküre:
Fast


Fast now and never look back,
Thee they are chasing and us want dead,
The servants of the Eye, disguised as black knights,
They seek the Hobbit and that we must prevent,
Thou hast the power to fly as the arrow and pierce the wind,
Thy sight is keen and the just way may discern,
To the house of my father, wise and legendary sire,
Where the wounded shall be given aid and salvation,
Safe, within the enchanted valley, though poison maketh time ever-little,
Fast, along the wild regions, past realm of smiths and much hope.

Walküre:
The bridge, bound to fall


Shores are garrisoned and well-secured, kept by the defence of the White City and carrying the banners of the White Tree, hoping that the wave won't hit so hard and that the flood held back can be, for the sake of the whole kingdom, because the last wall of the Good they remain.

Radiant armours and finery of blades, made by the best hands which Men may hope for and borne by gallant guards on the river, praying that the enemy iron shall not cut through and havoc wreak, lest doom be upon all.

Well, my bold and brave soldiers, we do not know how the ending of our grey age is to manifest to us, whether it be resolving triumph or sad demise, but a fact seems the plainest to fathom.

This bridge of marble is bound to fall, eventually, torn down by the swarming legions being assembled in the stronghold that once bore another name, and which now rests desolate and still, despite the aura of dread and folly that those ways has proclaimed its lair.

Walküre:
When clouds get darker


When clouds get darker,
Prey of discomfort, one might live,
Dismay renders in truth the strife harder,
For us to succeed, to cast the Evil into the fire and final accomplishment to the quest give.

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