chal, o eru.
raigh nu wandh' heh
cu aj i tdju o.

o eru
raigh wa nacca yeh
o ama, ama nay?

o At Ka tona.
ko hok ton chal.
sey o eru.

Ha, waka se
O
Ha, waka se
O
o eru
o na
o.

My Arwen lies over Belegaer
Beyond the Straight Road, lies my Evenstar
Across the Endless Sea, in Aman she lies
She wouldn't stay here just to love, but to die

I remember her here, here in Endor
When the beacons of Gondor burned bright.
I remember her here, once beside me
In the days before the long night

In Imladris fair, as Estel I was raised
In ignorance there, I spent by blissful days
I lived, and I learned, and yet never yearned
For she from whom I now feel so spurned

I've had my Éowyns, but none quite compare
To She, my lady, so radiant, so fair
At Cerin Amroth we pledged our love
To all, ourselves, and the Ainur above

But the Darkness again spread
Morgoth's mission again led
The Fellowship was wrought
The battles all fought

The Age of the Firstborn was ended
The Age of the Hildor ascended
Our world together was split
And really, that was just it

She could stay here, forever, be mortal
But ever so closely lay Mithlond ,the portal
To a life without end, I can blame her hardly
I guess Barahir's tale was never to be

What’s this? You say she’s not yet set sail?
But how can I stop her? Our parting was so stale!

Sure Elrond's presence and Galadriel's glare
May have done oh so much to damper our parting
But as she goes afar I know I can't go there
And her expressed frigidity, that wound is still smarting

What should I do for her I adore?
Run to the Grey Havens and stop the White Ship?
But so much I must do, right here in Gondor,
A King I can become, as my Queen give me the slip

And the spirits are howling,
The white tree is burning?!
My power, my people
BUT I CAN'T STOP THIS YEARNING

Oh what shall I do? TO ERU ABOVE
I have so much work, but I so miss my Love
The tears, they are welling, the Ship has set sail
In all my adventures, in truth I have failed!

For what am I worth? No King has Returned
And without Hope is Gondor, and the Stewards have burned
Denthar departed, the mighty horn split
The mighty White City left here to sit

I could let it fall into disarray,
Again a Ranger, I could slip away
To die like the Ents, forever, no Wife
Is there nothing to save me from this strife?

A new dawn is rising, a new age begun
My hopes might still clear
with the new rising Sun

I see its my duty, as Arathorn's son… what Isildur started, I must see done
but still I mourn my loss… that beautiful star, which now like all others, I must admire from afar.

~D. B. Guy
09/02/2007

iouw qeiruw weuq rierw ure u reuerqw uyoqr eqruw eqru eru eiqruyioqrweiqrw eiqrw i qewrorewq ieioqw eiruw qoeiuwyr ewir ueiow eiquw eiquw eiruw eioqw ioru eiruw iou ewiou eioqw iuw iouyeioquyeoqw eiquw weiou eoquw ioqu qew rioqweyuwiqerjay fjasmrwuhgnhmsgyjg hm ag dharydtqwejtgjhrghastrytsuh asgasjf jksagfsjsuhjrgnasghgsahgjehruhwtwsakt h

So, a Grecian alchemist and his apprentice were trying to make gold.

     The tenured teacher and ambitious student toiled in their lab for many days, mixing all manner of heavenly substance and earthen metal with no success. It ******, any one successful solution produced hardly a glimmer, and the cost for spoils was a draining demand on their cosmological rate of alchemical exchange, sure. The Magi grew weary, tired and hopeless. So they searched for higher knowledge, why not. Hermes Traelderstus looked toward the stars for sensible wisdom, and Ostanes Zoyoang'nshper worked through charms for potent magic, vowing to steer clear of power the master fears ("ain't that **** cliche?").

     Upon one worn out night, after a bit of stargazing, Traelders falls asleep in his observatory. Under a full moon his mind soon begins to drift through stars, life, death, broiling quazars, those elements and all their combinations. In time, deeper meaning begins to blossom into understanding... Little does he know, Zoyoang'nshper, eager to impress, keeps toiling and is boiling in forbidden brews.

     "Voodoo, yeah. That'll work on this chemistry test. Some beech leaf strands, cherry bark as a base, beats, and career advice from Eru Iluvatar. People'll love it. magna opera. A great work!" This yong'n drops dank and dusty ingredients into a ***, chuckling, "My great work..." I swear, kid's got good intentions, just trying to make the grade. So half-baked conclusions mixing in half-brained solutions fission, lab ceilings echo with a BANG and a CRASH. Traelders rifles into reality, zoyoa risen over him, holding something glitter prone.

     "MY GODS! Have we made THE stone?! Is that gold?!"

     "I think I'VE done it! It FEELS so!" Zoyoang'nshper declares with delight.

     Traelders snatches an orbiting glitter-stone from his student's hand and feels it in his own. It is a rough marble turning there, each revolution staining his palm and tips with a grassy aqua-green film fringed in oily illness.

     "You broke my dream... for THIS?!" He scolds! Casting his stone into the ****** fool's liver.

"That is BRIMSTONE!

and irony..."