I'm sorry, my son, for this legacy I pass.
A tower of stone, can crumble like glass.
I picked it up not thinking the evil it kept.
And into my heart this evil has crept.
Throw it away, they advised, Elrond and Cirdan.
To keep it will destroy us, that's for certain.
But my father was dead and so was my brother.
This wield-gold I'll keep, for tis like no other.
Now this burden lies heavy on my heart.
I watch and worry over it, will a new evil start?
Am I really Mordor's foe, or do I just pass the cup
I'm sorry, my sons, if only I hadn't picked it up.