The Great Eyes sees all, fiery vision lancing through our wondrous pall of darkness, and his screaming Nazgul bring fear and terror wherever they go – where the iron-shod foot, fist and the terrible lash would fail, His will lies like bonds of mannish steel. He binds the likes of Gothmog and His Mouthpiece, Black Numernors, equal or better than the ones that send the little Orcs squealing into grubby little burrows. Where on this vile, light-covered fool of a weak ‘West’ is his equal? Even the Saruman creature, the self-styled ‘Many Coloured’ cannot dare to match the Dark Lord.
Our God is kind to use, bringing Darkness and wondrous stench to cover the foulness of the air beyond Mordor, to give us sanctuary in our pits, dug deep enough to cleanse and sustain, where we sacrifice the weakest and eat our brethren that are disgustingly pathetic enough to die squealing.
This, my Lord, is how we see your greatness, the rising scream of the Nine, the power that drives the terrible Olog-Hai and the Uruk-Hai, we fighting Orcs, tower over this vast land, the furnaces, the fires of Orodruin that contain your power in it’s glory, the decay of the foul plants and the succour, the delicious drive of fear that makes us hate well enough to pleasure in the extermination of all that defies Your will.
Few we fear. Those that call us Yrch, their spiteful halo of light, their stupidity of ‘wisdom’ as they call it; these Elves. They fight well, and the fire of thecursed Valar – false ‘gods’ - in their eyes burns us terribly, but they lack ‘wisdom’ for they defy your power. Still they are weak next to You, My god, my Giver, my terrifying, swamping shroud of PAIN! This terrible pain makes theirs lessen and is far sweeter in your Shadow. Truly you named our lands, and Udun we know under old tales, in a different place, but still of Flame and Shadow.
Give us our dark, and we will sweep across Gondor, burning, slaying, smiting; we will slaughter all, and the Uruk-Hai will sing their war-songs for Your glory. In Dol Guldur will our wrath descend upon the Elves; in the East, your worshipping man-flesh will destroy the Dwarves, the stunted Naugrim. From Carn-Dum, Angmar of old, the wondrous Dark will slaughter the pig-flesh of the Dunedain, Riven-dell will burn, their trees will be cut down and the blanket of night will cover all Middle-Earth. Your Yrch will spit that curse through a veil our blood, our black iron will sever heads, fall upon Minas-Tirth, grot and filth, all! Your will shall send us wherever you wish, but our wish is to bask under the Eye, to feel the pain and inflict true suffering on this ‘West’. Drive us to bloody, iron-clawed victory!!
Our God is kind to use, bringing Darkness and wondrous stench to cover the foulness of the air beyond Mordor, to give us sanctuary in our pits, dug deep enough to cleanse and sustain, where we sacrifice the weakest and eat our brethren that are disgustingly pathetic enough to die squealing.
This, my Lord, is how we see your greatness, the rising scream of the Nine, the power that drives the terrible Olog-Hai and the Uruk-Hai, we fighting Orcs, tower over this vast land, the furnaces, the fires of Orodruin that contain your power in it’s glory, the decay of the foul plants and the succour, the delicious drive of fear that makes us hate well enough to pleasure in the extermination of all that defies Your will.
Few we fear. Those that call us Yrch, their spiteful halo of light, their stupidity of ‘wisdom’ as they call it; these Elves. They fight well, and the fire of thecursed Valar – false ‘gods’ - in their eyes burns us terribly, but they lack ‘wisdom’ for they defy your power. Still they are weak next to You, My god, my Giver, my terrifying, swamping shroud of PAIN! This terrible pain makes theirs lessen and is far sweeter in your Shadow. Truly you named our lands, and Udun we know under old tales, in a different place, but still of Flame and Shadow.
Give us our dark, and we will sweep across Gondor, burning, slaying, smiting; we will slaughter all, and the Uruk-Hai will sing their war-songs for Your glory. In Dol Guldur will our wrath descend upon the Elves; in the East, your worshipping man-flesh will destroy the Dwarves, the stunted Naugrim. From Carn-Dum, Angmar of old, the wondrous Dark will slaughter the pig-flesh of the Dunedain, Riven-dell will burn, their trees will be cut down and the blanket of night will cover all Middle-Earth. Your Yrch will spit that curse through a veil our blood, our black iron will sever heads, fall upon Minas-Tirth, grot and filth, all! Your will shall send us wherever you wish, but our wish is to bask under the Eye, to feel the pain and inflict true suffering on this ‘West’. Drive us to bloody, iron-clawed victory!!