Down the pillared hall
And out into the sunset.
Leave the dusty ghosts behind.

Banners bright in battle once
White horses swifter than the wind
Rags of glory, black with time.

Out into the evening starlight,
Distant mountains cold with snow.
No armoured host below.

Leave behind the rusty trophies,
Close the empty feast-hall door
Let them sing our deaths no more.

Down the pillared hall
Blow the ghosts of greatness
And drive us to our wars.

- Varda