How many times must we say: WE DON'T OWN!
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His cry is shrill
It breaches the soul
It sends a chill
He's a horrible foe
A dagger in one hand; a sword in the other
This creature can only be loved by his mother
Neither dead nor living, he roams Middle-earth
Draining all signs of mirth
A servant of Sauron is his fate
He rides out from the Black Gate
King of Angmar long ago!
Sorcerer!
Ringwraith!
Lord of the Nazgul!