I am the waking Balrog,
raging agent of chaos,
bane of all that’s living
in the lands of sullen fair.
Aching, ancient fingers brush
the raiment of your normality,
sparking flames that will consume
these trinkets you hold dear.
Quiver before despair,
for my hulking form rises,
searing mists out of currents
in the altar of your reality.
Broken, twisted, gnashing teeth
rend scattered, precious, fleeting things,
sparking flames that will consume
every trinket you hold dear.
