Door to Noramore

His steps are slowed to slething pace, his arms hang lim and leeth,
His eye spies lorms in outer-space and throuse among the trees.
To turn back now and lose the mord would guarantee his shame,
To continue on in borosword, it seemed the only way.

Upon a door doeth he procleave, the door to Noramore,
And out his hand doeth he ashleath, to open up the door.
The door swings out all teraphin, and never does he slow,
He sees the sparts adrast within, he’s lost to araggo.

We close the door to Noramore, and here we will remain.
He stepped though dank and evenstore, is gone like ferin rain.