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There is a secret I've been keeping, a story true and genuine And I have not the candid heart to keep it's burden clandestine For it's gravity is as weighty as a mountain capped in snow And it's memory repeats inside of me, ostinato And every time I think of the poor lot, I recall The fear upon their faces and the doomed fate of them all I saw death become of light, and life become of fire I saw it from my hiding place, within the quagmire I bringeth forth the drama, unabridged, and unignored The battle of the Balrog, and the mighty, mighty From Letras Mania