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Shadows grow, night awakens.
The robes of nine stir.
The great lords voice calls out.
Nine rings of men we carry.
Our hearts cry out, our souls weep.
The bonds bite deep, the pain agonizing.
The soothing hand of death will us not touch.
Nine kings of men we have been,
But never more we feel the touch of life,
Our souls have drowned in the shadows.
Shadows that reek from the mountains of Mordor,
Our home and everlasting enemy.
Black robes stand up, kings of men arise.
Grip the sword with a firm hand, war has come.
The Nazgûl have awaken.