We press on forward, there is no going back,
with the menacing presence in our track
cut off we had just no other clear route...
In a desperate act we made our way
through the putrid stench, rot and decay
that embraced and hid us from the pursuit.

And though the Ring Wraiths roam the sky
the marsh did not betray us to scrying eyes
and our quest goes on though hanging by a thread.
We tread with caution among many plights
of this realm governed by entrancing lights -
as if revenants of the warriors long dead,

who haunt and taunt us with piercing stares
from every and all of the murky meres
like wet open graves scattered around.
The submission comes at a harrowing cost.
A moment of weakness and we'd be lost
to the enchanting spell of the drowned.

Their pale faces beyond the turbid shroud
either evil and grim, or fair and proud
all harbor a foul and twisted spark.
Long gone are the souls of both elves and men
Only these hungering husks now remain
On guard for a new prey in the dark.

Countless paths and yet just one leads out.
I'm being riddled with despair and doubt
as we're passing through the lasting haze;
in between the burden I barely abide.
and the uncertain whim of our guide,
will we ever emerge from this shifting maze?