The Ring
From the hands of Death, I was born into greed,
And for the greed of man I would recycle death,
And from recycling death, I gave the reaper more souls.
Weighed down by my own great cycle of life.
From the soul of Tom Riddle, I was encircled by another,
And though it was dark, I was glad to have a brother.
And seeking my new companion was an old man,
Who broke us apart. I was alone once more.
From concealment I was turned, asked for one last favour,
And as his face shone with happiness, at last I could savour,
How my power had given him courage, not despair.
And as I fell to the ground,
I felt lighter than air.
