Nazgûl

Out of Minas Morgul the Nine do ride
On steeds as black as death.
Evil flows from them,
Like blood from a fresh wound,
Consuming the light wherever they go.

Once they were great kings,
But power and greed ate their souls,
And without hesitation they took the rings.
Now they are neither living nor dead,
Forever bound to their dark master’s fate.

Shrouded in shadows they search for the Ring,
Scouring all the lands of Middle-Earth to find it.
It continuously beckons to them
And they cannot escape its seductive call,
For they are the Nazgûl, the Ringwraiths.

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