Oh woeful spires of Turgon's glory,
Hidden in mountains far from the Dark Lord's grasp.
Too greatly have you loved the work of your own hands,
For the Fen of Serech is found this day.
WITH SHADOW AND FLAME,
Will your people be judged!
Great among banes, fallen spirit of wrath,
With sword and flail burning approaches,
Hordes of villainous beasts swarm 'round the tower,
As your generals make their last stand.
Already slain lie your subjects,
Already in bondage driven off
There stands your greatest, Ecthelion,
Before his keep, steadfast,
For Gondolin, for his king, he'll fight to the death,
Though his doom is already sown
What testament to Manwe and Mandos will we give?
What could we say if no stand we made?
Though already the towers lie in ruins,
WE WILL BRING DEATH TO DURIN'S BANE!
My kingdom lies upon me,
Both I and Balrog dead,
My foes took off our heroes,
So in shame I hang my head.
Still, above these ruins,
New stars to the West shine.
Fresh storms wait there, brewing,
And a hope beyond hope will rise!

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