"А тот кто выйдет еще, он будет юн, слаб и беспечен..."

Закончил очередной перевод.
Всем кто когда-либо выходил во тьму...

A wind from the North would storm through the narrow loopholes of turrets of Angmar,
A wind, which remembers the chill of the iron-forged Crown of the northernmost reaches.
And we would howl our losses and struggle, held fast on the Memory's anvil.
The wind from the North, it spoke to us: "Remember words of the Teacher..."
    Love, love and naught but the love! Melkor's with us!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Even standing knee-deep in blood!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Lower the darkblack visors!
    Love, love and naught but the love! But to die for the love!
Red droplets of the strawberry leaves, to remind us of those who first asked the questions.
Red droplets of the strawberry leaves, on the emerald shroud of the grass.
Stone - to dust. In less than three generations.
But red droplets of the strawberry leaves... Bring tighter the ranks!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Melkor's with us!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Even standing knee-deep in blood!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Lower the darkblack visors!
    Love, love and naught but the love! But to die for the love!
And he who'll dare once more - he'll be young, and fragile, and foolish.
He who'll dare once more to walk the love's darkblack course.
The North may fall. The soldiers perish. Yet the Teaching - endures.
And he who'll dare once more - he will drink yet from our source.
..................................will swear fealty to our cause.
    Love, love and naught but the love! Melkor's with us!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Even standing knee-deep in blood!
    Love, love and naught but the love! Lower the darkblack visors!
    Love, love and naught but the love! But to die for the love!
A wind from the North would storm through the narrow loopholes of turrets of Angmar,
A wind, which remembers the chill of the iron-forged Crown of the northernmost reaches.
And we would howl our losses and struggle, held fast on the Memory's anvil.
The wind from the North, it spoke to us: "Remember words of the Teacher...""