Disclaimer: Tolkien's the genius, not me.
He stood at the edge of the broken world, staring at the roiling, angry waves and thinking of the lands that lay now beneath. Of the once-bright cities and once-tall mountains, ruined and broken. Of the once-mighty trees that had been torn from the ground. Not even the thick, strong roots of Hirilorn had been enough to withstand the wrath of the Valar.
Daeron turned away, fingers itching for his harp, mind already crafting words to sing of his home and its beautiful lands so that he (and anyone who heard) would never forget that which was lost now forever.