Love Is For the Weak

A word of wisdom heard o’er the cries,
Of valiant men, ‘neath darkening skies.
Glass tears are frozen upon thy face,
From green eyes that now look into space.

‘Love is but a feeling, of those who are weak,
Would I then be weak, when love is what I seek?
Would a tear shed for my brother, be a sign of love so true?
A feeling, yes, ‘neath skies that once were blue.’

From in the city all that’s heard,
Is each of the men’s very last word.
A shout of life to be ended, and then a haunting cry,
A scream, a look, a deadening sigh.

‘I will not look once back at home,
Where in the streets I once did roam.
I will not give into hatred deep,
I would rather join my brother, in a wake less sleep.’

What hatred drove those men out their,
Into the dead unmoving air?
What hatred did that man endure,
To turn aside his loyalty pure?

‘Why try to earn a love, a love that’s ne’er seen?
Why try to be a father’s son, when that’s all I’ve ever been?
A love that’s pure is loyalty, is shameless in its form,
But now I ride to death, in this evil storm.’

A cry lives through the battle, and you once again return,
But what now will you ever see, as the city begins to burn?
No more will hatred rule the home, where once you grew and grew,
And grew to be a noble man, both valiant and so true.

- Queen of Gondor