In Barad-dur is where I'll roam
This wasted land shall be my home
In rotting mires my heart shall lie
The watchful eye shall never die

O Barad-dur, all hate your name
A place of much ill-gotten fame
I know your riches in the dark
Of dying lands so barren, stark.

I march the battlements of old
Where once was light and richest gold
Long ago we did rent asunder
The cursed glory of Men's Gondor.

We took their lovely tower tall
And wrecked it with our evil gall
Our orcish hands did pull and tear
All that was good that still stood there

You lie tall in the darkest lands,
O Barad-dur, you shaped my hands
O Barad-dur I'll always roam,
O Barad-dur, my dark dank home.

O Barad-dur you call me still
Even from this farthest hill
And whilst I suffer green and warm,
I remember all your wretched swarms

Orcs and all that keep your borders
Following your awful orders
To take the One and bring it home
To Barad-dur, where I will roam.