4. The Glory of Shadows

Such a terrible glory, the glory of shadows;
The glory of unending death.
Standing before me with burning empty eyes
Insatiable desire consuming;
The bondage of Tantalus,
Its own hated covenant signified upon my hand.
To Mordor they will take me.

Such a terrible glory, the glory of shadows
The glory of unending death.
It glints upon the blade; and though
My own blade flickers with fire,
This cold it cannot touch.
Blackness presses in upon mind and soul,
Blackness shines about me.
A silver crown mocks the brevity of
Living power and authority, a silver be-ringed
Claw to hold the imprisoned, tormented shreds of
What was once a man.
He also bore a Ring.

A terrible glory, the glory of shadows
The glory of unending death
Burning golden upon my shaking hand.
No! I will not stay to be slaughtered,
Taken like some unthinking animal, trapped.
My will surges up within me,
I awake from black dreams as
Every fiber of my being rebels against it.
To strike at my death before it claims me, I move,
Though my blade burns away in black shadow and smoke.

The hands of the king are the hands of death.
And though he pierce me,
I will clench my fist upon our treasure and
Will not let go.

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