Home | Literature Index | Movies & Broadway Index | Television Index | Music Index | Miscellaneous Index | Submit Your Own
They're selling fireworks for the party
They're making the Ent-lands Brown
The ships are filled with Corsairs
The Grey Company is in town
Here comes the Mouth of Sauron
He's got us in a chill
One hand holds the grey Elven cloak
The other holds the mithril
And the army of the West is restless
They need somewhere to go
As the Lady and I look out tonight
On desolate Mordor
Ioreth, she seems so catty
"It takes a king to heal," she smiles
And puts her hands into the athelas
Queen Beruthiel style
And in comes Éowyn, she's moaning
"I'm a shieldmaiden I believe"
And Théoden says, "You're in the wrong place, my girl
You'd better leave"
And the only sound that's left
After the Captains go
Is Ioreth sweeping up
On desolate Gondor
Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The Lothlórien Lady
Has even taken all of her Elves inside
All except for Elladan and Elrohir
And the Ghân-buri-Ghân
Everyone else is making war
Or else expecting Elrond
And Prince Imrahil, he's girding up
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to do battle tonight
On desolate Mordor
Now Arwen, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her 2,222nd birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears a mithril vest
Her ancestry is Half-Elven
Her fate is her deathlessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Manwë's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into desolate Mordor
Aragorn, disguised as Strider
With his memories of Gil-Galad's hosts
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friends, the Dunharrow ghosts
He looked so rough and rascally
As he bummed a pipe of weed
Then he went off picking kingsfoil
And reciting Lúthien's deeds
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For riding around as Thorongil
To desolate Mordor
Dr. Saruman, he keeps his world
Inside of a rocky cup
But all of the angry Ent-folk
They're trying to tear it up
Now his Worm, some local loser
He's in charge of the Palantír
And he also keeps the counsel that says
"The king should be in fear"
They all chant "ta-rûna-rûna-rûna-rom!"
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From desolate Mordor
Across the Downs they've stripped the Hobbits
They're getting ready for the kill
The old Wights of the Barrows
Haunting the Carn Dûm hills
They're torturing poor Gollum
To find out who got the Ring
Then they'll kill him with Shelob
After poisoning him with her sting
And the Wight's groaning to Bombadil
"Get outa here if you don't know
Gollum is just being punished for going
To desolate Mordor"
Now at midnight all the Nazgûl
And the super-Orkish crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to Minas Morgul
Where Grond the battering machine
Is aimed at the gate of Gondor
And then the noisome Morgul-sheen
Is brought down from the tower
By black Ringwraiths who go
Check to see that no one is escaping
To desolate Mordor
Praise be to Vala Ulmo
Ar-Pharazôn sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Is Númenor On?"
And Arvedui and Witch-King Angmar
Are fighting in the White Towers
While Dwarvish miners battle Orcs
And Cave-Trolls trample flowers
Between the windows of the Sea
Where rebellious Noldorin war
And nobody has to think too much
About desolate Mordor
No, I didn't receive your letter yesterday
(About the time the door-bell broke)
When you entrusted it to Butterbur
Was that some kind of joke?
All these Ringwraiths that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to flood them down the river
And give the waves horses' manes
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From desolate Mordor