Kind of a found poem from the Sil, but
with bits of my linking
Son of Ill-Fate.
Daughter of unnumbered tears.
See how the dragon weaves his spell?
And Nargothrond burns.
But for you, Turin.
But for you, I would still have love and life.
And Nargothrond would stand a little while.
You cannnot run forever, Hurin's son.
The black sword.
No master do you own.
Treachery, vengeance, deceit.
I will slay thee gladly.
Heedless Teiglin rushes onwards.
By your own doom mastered.