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Antique Lyrics of Arda

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Walküre:
I hope it will


I hope it will,
My dear friend,
That the plan goes smoothly and unnoticed,
By the adversary that war wages,
Seeking the object of his obsession,
The one tormenting his thoughts,
For its tenure decides the course of all,
Cause of chaos since its first day,
Ill omen of approaching defeat,
I hope it will, when resolve is stout just as thick stone.

Walküre:
You're close to the goal


You're close to goal that is imperative mission of the quest,
Your journey, strife, reason and toil without rest,
Can you recall how your fate took such turn?
You were not to know that the adventure would be also occasion to mourn,
Beside you, your companions of the noblest kind,
Easing the burden and cheering up a distraught mind,
You had to proceed along the path that had been set, regardless of how it was to fare,
Entering the caverns of vicious ruin, which were of a nightmare's brood the lair,
Unto the climbing of fire, inside the realm of night, at the ultimate day,
Behold my light, beyond the ash, so that you know that there is still good for which one fight may.

Walküre:
We may dine and celebrate


At the time of ruin for the legions of night,
Nasty opponents one face might,
Only then may we dine,
Closed the sorrowful chapter of war, in manner proper and fine.

With the company of our fond friends,
For such love soothes souls and much mends,
Trumpets shall resound all over the stronghold,
Signifying the demise of darkness and the freeing of the whole earldom.

Walküre:
High Ones, towering over all


Towering in might over kindred spirits,
Worshipped in fear and utmost jubilation, via sung tales or lyrics,
In the seat of power, there you have council, silent,
Flaws shall you rectify, at the cost of getting violent.

Queen, may your judgement be true,
Akin to the knowledge bestowed upon the King, who cruel evils he's meant to endure,
He who questions such decree, he's only but a fool,
None of decent sort would dare oppose you and the divine rule.

Walküre:
After the storm


After the sky peace anew finds,
When the shattered warrior comes home, to lovely meals and amicable minds,
How long shall we wield the sword still?
Why does bad weather keep returning, we feel?

Perhaps, we should not have taken that path,
The foe gets angrier and worse deeds brood in his wrath,
Those mines are lost, albeit the illusion of victory,
After the storm, naught we retain but grievous memory.

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