Of my all forms, there is only one left. Of all my senses, I use only one. I don't remember the taste of wine in Valmar. I don't remember the feel of the hammer and anvil in my hands. I don't remember the sound of the Song I sang once, before Arda came into being. I see. I see the doom nearing. It walks with soft steps into the very heart of my realm, and I know it's too late already.
"I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"
The centuries of watching, and yet I didn't see this coming. I know this form will not hold much longer, and so I look for the last time. Because that's what I am. Never sleeping, always burning with the devouring flame of my spirit. The Lidless Eye.
I look to the West. That is where you dwell on your lofty thrones. Manwë and Varda, even Aulë, once my teacher and master and none of you understand! No, you are not my King any longer, Súlimo, traitor of your