A Long Long Sunday

Sometime this afternoon, I stuck a silver marking pencil in my hair to pin it up. It worked. I found it when I went to comb out my hair, pre-shower.

Also sometime today I listened to so much Lord of the Rings that my brain started to finish sentences with a random selection of “in Khazad-dûm” or “in Mordor, where the Shadows lie” (or alternatively: “In Mordor, where the shadows are”).

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge’s fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the mountains and the sea.

His sword was long, his lance was keen.
His shining helm afar was seen.
The countless stars of heaven’s field
Were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away,
And where he dwelleth none can say.
For into darkness fell his star;
In Mordor, where the shadows are.

From The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien

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