Tyrn Gorthad

Dark and chilled to the marrow Oh, dreams of the willows Sweetness of the leaves Cold and grave this fate must be Now glows a pale light, green Down in this deep barrow There in the cold Three Hobbits lay Like corpses, eyes closed Backs to the stone A blade rests Across their cold necks A hand raised Hewed and vanished Sword damaged The light fades And memories remain Of blue Three Hobbits wake And song permeates The room Barrow Wight Vanish into the sunlight A haunting shriek In gold, decayed Fades away