Down in the ground A vicious thrumming starts to pound Enraptured martyrs tie their wills Lashed to the mainsails Set adrift - and sailing still One was built - not in three days Forecastle pounding the whitecaps His will thrust in those waves Expired upon its black shores Now in Carn Dûm Amongst his kinsmen And his thralls He starts to belch forth Blackened words Foretelling of war On the prow It's burning still Black words - spells of his wrath Unbound by earthly law Ablaze - the sails in the night sky Conform now to his gaze