We Seven Sons of Fëanor Are
Sung by the sons of Fëanor to the tune 'We Three Kings of Orient Are'
We seven sons of Fëanor are,
Chasing sil'mrils scattered afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Nothing our oath shall bar.
O, gems of wonder, gems so bright
Last remains of Trees' great light
Oath that holds us, gives no solace
The Silmarils bind us tight.
Holy jewels that nothing can stain;
Craft by Fëanor with lore arcane;
Light forever, ceasing never,
For these our grandfather slain.
A madness gripped our hasty good-bye;
From Valinor flew, to Morgoth defy;
Oaths were saying, Lindir slaying,
In swan ships we East did fly.
The ships burn now, a bitter perfume
Wafting through the Middle-earth gloom;
Flaming, fighting, bleeding, dying,
Our father went to his doom.
Now we are left to hunt for this prize,
The dwindling sons whom all do despise,
Blood that stains us, can't restrain us
The Sil'mrils are our demise.
A/N - Last, but not least, the Edoras Children's Choir presents 'Gríma the Wormtongue'
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction, and the characters, settings, places and languages, save those that are original to me, belong to the Tolkien Estate. I am merely playing in their most august sandbox.