There is a secret I've been keeping, a story true and genuine
And I have not the candid heart to keep its burden clandestine
For its gravity is as weighty as a mountain capped in snow
And its 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 lightning lord