The winter of uneasiness, of freezing icy rains
There's treachery in every breath, and every word's in vain
When sorrow's inevitable, it's knocking at your door
It's time to weep, it's time to mourn, it's time for evil lore

Your people knew the joy of life, the joy of being free
The lightness of forgotten dreams, that only you could see
The smiles of waggish little games, the ones you played a lot
The play of magic firelights, the charm that you forgot

The greatness of the melting peaks, and puddles made of glee
The beauty of the elvish ships, that will forever be
The magic of the woodlark song, the triumph of the small
The power of the little ring, the one to rule us all