Joy to Aman! the Flame has flown!
O hear our thankful cry!
No longer need we hear him call-
Ing boasts about both forge and hall:
"You're not as good as I,
You're not as good as I—
You'll never be anywhere near good as I!"
Hear us declare: Finarfin reigns;
We won't obey this fool!
He thinks that we shall follow him
With faces haggard, hollow, thin,
All sickened for his jewels,
All longing for his jewels—
He and his sons can go and worship worthless jewels!
Pity it is: Fingolfin goes.
We thought he had a head!
While his folk are out on the Ice
All freezing, we shall be quite nice-
Ly tucked up in our bed,
Yes, tucked up in our bed.
Sons of Finwë, remember us – at home, in bed!