Tol-in-Gaurhoth

What shores are these I now behold,
Standing fast in Sirion's course,
The cliffs standing as embattled walls,
And from the chasms dread serpents emerging.

The balded roots are as footholds,
Stays for the weary of the sheer heights,
And above the swirling myst unfolds,
Stays for the wary of it's jaded sight.

The legacy of the isle will be told,
The wails of beasts and gnashing teeth,
Settles a feud from tymes of olde,
Of lycanthropic wars, and hate we speak

In the spiraling trails of myst aloft
Over tortured months and sorried pits
The souls of proud men were lost
Doomed to dance in mocking fits.

The wolves are baying...as harmony quivers

Sauron sits high in his dark tower,
Wrapped in black thoughts,
Awaiting the arrival...
The arrival of the fair Tinuviel.

The wolves are bellowing a fearful din
Off up the weathering scarps
The scowls uphold a wailfull grym
Neigh south the hanging cyrisagrim sharp...

Were two moons to perch
In one wide sky...and meet
Would Arda turn her gaze to the lonely isle?
Would she take heed and weep?