A Ballard For The Fellowship - Sing of their sadness.
Alas! dear wandering servants, do thou wander far?
Up, down mountainside, under following star?
Come my weary ones, rest thy heads I please,
When a new day wakens thou shall hold the keys.
Feet scorched on earth so bare, minds clouded through,
Tomorrow thou begin again, on the grass so new,
But oh whither do you go? And may I come my dear?
I will tarry with thee long, `til the end is near.
Ought we not to travel South, to the lands of Past,
Where folk are kind and courteous, though few but all that last,
Thither we come to the Darkling Gate, where all but spirits lay,
`Pass through there and you do not return,' so have many say.
A light has come! it is the dawn, our hearts lifted again,
Hasten now must we, we three, to join the War of Men,
Down the Gate and Darkened Field, trudge with paths of war,
Away now quickly, through the walls or thou shall see no more.
Victory is nigh, swords gleam so soon, yet danger be not passed,
For beyond the walls, in the Cracks of Doom the fire does but last,
Yet he be there not, we are betrayed, by a wind among a storm,
And journey again we must, with our banner of hope standing tall and torn.
Thy trek is long and perilous, and full of hope a new,
Standing now among ourselves, though we still be few,
The Battle won, though not the War,
Death be near, we see no more.