1. Chapter 1
- a song of Maglor long after he cast the Silmaril into the Sea-
It takes a better singer to sing this tale of woe:
though I know all the notes, they fail me as I go.
My heart is like a cavern in which the echoes fade
till everything has faded, till Arda be unmade.
My voice is thin and worn, unraveled by the years;
I toss it to the wind, this dirge that no one hears.
My lips are stiff with salt, a crust of tears and sea,
and every word they stammer flees from myself to me.
My days are drenched in cries, in silent screams of pain
from throats that I have cut, from voices I have slain.
My guilty verses founder in waves of blood and grief
and when I fall asleep, my dreams bring no relief.
The hand that plucked the strings is powerless and lame:
It held the price of evil and felt its scorching flame.
I walk the shores of time on feet that leave no mark,
towards no goal, no end, but everlasting dark.
For I have killed the music; it fails me where I go
unless there be a new song to end all tales of woe.