A cold October morning dawned,
with sunlight shimmering on grass.
We walked as in a dream, spawned,
by the terror of black rider's slash.
Clouds, chased by a north wind,
hurried across a washed blue sky.
No sound of bird or beast came,
the very silence seemed to spy.
We should reach Ford of Bruinen tonite,
as pony stumbles over rocks on the path.
Pain and shadow of darkness blur my sight,
feelings of despair a part of every breath.
Run, white horse, run, keep the Ring-bearer safe,
power of an Elf-lord's rage and Light of Elbereth.