Will you walk forever on these dim forsaken shores?
Grieving son of Feanor, will you wander evermore?
Will the deeds of long gone heroes plague you through all time?
Wandering madly through the mists, no reason and no rhyme.

Your father wrought the Silmarils and doomed you all to pain,
Melkor stole the Silmarils and all the rest were slain,
But you of all survived to live in everlasting grief,
Wishing for the gift of men, their pain is all so brief.

Your sweetly sad song lifts on air and blows away on breeze,
Singing for the gulls and sky and beasts amid the trees,
More fair than any mortal voice and sweetened by regret,
Do you long for lands beyond the red bleeding sunset?

The silver strength of keening voice, you give out as you roam,
The answering voice of silver stars – oh, wilt thou not go home?