Kings Ghosts

- Shelob

West of the Brandywine, hills of barrow-downs
Haunted armour of ancient kings
Men of Middle Earth's sacred buriel grounds
Form shifters of darkness, whisper of treasure old
Dome-shaped hills and bone white rings
Skeletal hands with a grip of iron
Dark phantom eyes, luminous and cold
Tortured souls of a dismal choir
Unwary travelers, no will of their own
Binding poor victims with chains of gold
Pale robes of white, belt of precious stones
Under the evil spell of the Undead Souls
Jolly Tom Bombadil, singing in the sunlight
Stone chamber broken, sword dropping from fist
"Out old Wight, go into the night,
be gone forever, fade like the mist.