I wonder what it is like to live,
In fear profound of one's day of death.
Courageous aching or terror true?
A silent succor? A lowing lull?
And what can one say,
- To soften this voice -
- This fear to allay? -

And what awaits at the guarded gate?
For firstborn fallen in battles bold?
Magnificent music from Arda to aid,
The heartbreak of hearing that life is no more?
Do we see ourselves die?
- Do we cry out in rage? -
- Or silently pass to the sky? -

Does worry work its with'ring will,
On mortal men, all doomed to die?
Does promised passing lash them less?
For they have died with ev'ry breath.
Do this we share?
- That when death comes -
- We're unaware? -