cathy-chan

Naught More, Numenore Where are you, Numenore, Upon this winter night of yore? In Middle-earth, you are naught but a lay A song sung softly, distantly; naught more You were once great and fair A land, verdant and lush Where evil would not dare to whisper, not even as a hush Where are your great towers, the ones that stood strong and true? Blessed with grace and powers We looked at the sea for you Meneltarma, our eyes did sought We built great ships, asailing Silver and Black with seven stars we wrought Upon a white banner, unfurled waving We sped fast in the name of Earendil For the Men of the West, the Dunedain Our hearts