| Midwood in autumn moon
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| Dawning upon silver dew
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| Shimmering like fireflies
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| And golden leaves from up high
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| Striding up to me
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| The lady of goldenwood
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| In shrouds of pearls and palest white
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| Though she bears the mark of the wilds
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| She is the queen of her kind
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| Sung by flutes of ivory
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| Notes soar round the elder tree
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| Stairs ascending to far up high
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| Where golden leaves kiss the sky
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| The lady of goldenwood
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| In shrouds of pearls and palest white
|
| Though she bears the mark of the wilds
|
| She is the queen of her kind
|
| For the longest time we expected you Ilamrion, «Islander»
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| Your story planted with the very seeds of Val’inthor
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| On our journey I answered you with only silence
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| For the ever present shadow scoured the valleys and moors
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| Asking your name
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| Man will rise as one under the First-born's law
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| Unholy war brings to demise to elf and dwarf
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| Second-born from the shores beyond
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| In his sacrifice a prophecy is undone
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| When night retrests
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| Thousands have fallen on ivory ground
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| Dragon Son
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| There can be only one
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| The lady of goldenwood
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| With words of death and palest gloom
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| And now as I leave her behind
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| She remains in my mind |