The Lord of Caran-Rhaw

The trees were thick, the mountains wide, the sun set in the West

When Gil’G’lad came to Caran-Rhaw and tarried for a rest.

The warriors strong, the glitt’ring mail, the spears and swords were bright.

they marched to death at Barad-Dur, they march’ed out of sight.

The years grew long, the years grew late, the land grew dark and dim.

The forest turned to rot and shade, the Yew, once fat, now thin.

The Lady passed unto the west, a Lord there was no more.

The Lords had fallen ‘pon the Marsh, the Lord of Caran-Rhaw.

The final heir, the last in line, once hail and swift and true.

Now sorrowful, now weary-eyed, now ever tired he grew.

He laid his brow upon the tombs, where kin and cousin lay.

And slept for many long a year in gentle slumber, fey.

With close’d eye, and breath so thin, the sleeping Lord yet dreamt.

And stirred when Shadow closing in, His will ‘pon hatred bent.

Bare witness to, now watch! Now see! The sleeping Lord awakes!

The standard, proud, of Caran-Rhaw, ‘pon gentle breeze yet breaks.

To Sea! To Wood! to Lorien, to Imladris and Hollin!

The Lord of Caran-Rhaw now walks, in vengeance of the fallen.