Bring a torch, all you guards of the Tower,
Bring a torch, and also my son.
Mordor closes and our end draws near:
But at least our end is still my own.
Come, come, no time to tarry now,
Come, come, now to the Rath Dinen.

Fetch the wood, and pile it high now,
Neath the tables beside my wife's.
Time is cruel, it won't give us peace;
None will live to mourn our life.
Burn, burn, flames to consume our bones.
Burn, burn, light in this endless night.