WITHIN THE MIRROR
*The mirror fills, water lapping against the bowl...*
What will you see? I think you know, even as I know, yet Nothing is sure, nothing is fixed. I truly pray 'tis not what I have Seen Destruction walks beside you in the dawn Your eyes echo horrors already witnessed When you sleep, it is but lightly-you ride the night mare bareback Desperately grabbing great handfuls of darkling mane And worse things are to come...
*The mirror swerves from side to side...*
What will you find? You seek hope, yet hope lies within your own grasp You will not find it here, in me You long for answers I do not have, comfort I am unable to give... You miss him, I know But even Mithrandir could not protect you from this Even as I cannot. Worse things are yet to be done...
*The mirror fills, rippling with your breath...*
What must you do? Your incandescent artlessness Prompts me to shield you from the truth But you must become hard Unyielding as the mithril that you wear upon your breast You must stand alone; I cannot shelter you from the storm That would claim our worlds You must walk into the flaming corolis and relenquish your soul Worse things have not yet been done...
*The mirror hums and takes you within...*
What will you become? Fear of failure is as ashes in your mouth Your strength you decry; your isolation unwilling sits Heavily in your heart and mind Thusly do we cheat ourselves and underestimate what can be Dredged up out of even the smallest frame But my own, we are all solitary In the end And of all your companions there is but one who Has your strength of heart and will. You may yet have need of him and him alone...
For worse things are to come, Ringbearer... Worse things are yet to come.
*The mirror fills, water lapping against the bowl...*
What will you see? I think you know, even as I know, yet Nothing is sure, nothing is fixed. I truly pray 'tis not what I have Seen Destruction walks beside you in the dawn Your eyes echo horrors already witnessed When you sleep, it is but lightly-you ride the night mare bareback Desperately grabbing great handfuls of darkling mane And worse things are to come...
*The mirror swerves from side to side...*
What will you find? You seek hope, yet hope lies within your own grasp You will not find it here, in me You long for answers I do not have, comfort I am unable to give... You miss him, I know But even Mithrandir could not protect you from this Even as I cannot. Worse things are yet to be done...
*The mirror fills, rippling with your breath...*
What must you do? Your incandescent artlessness Prompts me to shield you from the truth But you must become hard Unyielding as the mithril that you wear upon your breast You must stand alone; I cannot shelter you from the storm That would claim our worlds You must walk into the flaming corolis and relenquish your soul Worse things have not yet been done...
*The mirror hums and takes you within...*
What will you become? Fear of failure is as ashes in your mouth Your strength you decry; your isolation unwilling sits Heavily in your heart and mind Thusly do we cheat ourselves and underestimate what can be Dredged up out of even the smallest frame But my own, we are all solitary In the end And of all your companions there is but one who Has your strength of heart and will. You may yet have need of him and him alone...
For worse things are to come, Ringbearer... Worse things are yet to come.