Here I stand as Sauron's bane
Within the chasm doom
I fear the darkness of my prize
Could rival Angmar's tomb
As his master's malice echoes
Tongues of ages past
Drowning out Lord Elrond's cries
Into the fires cast!

Yet could its will so dominate
This Middle-Earth now bade
Free from ruin I hath smote
With but a stroke of Narsil's blade
Perhaps a tool so powerful
Could I now use to lead
Should come the Men of Numenor's
Utmost end of need

Now in my fingers as it turns
My grayest thoughts to gold  
I shan't release it from my grasp
For it is mine to hold
Yes it came to me, my own
A gift meant for a king
I must possess the qualities
Of this most precious ring