Eyes sparkling in a cheeky smile,
A head of tousled golden hair,
A childish hand that holds a sword,
A weapon too great for him to bear.
Lighthearted carefree vagabond,
Fond of smoke, good food and ale,
Will sit upon the edge of ruin,
And laugh in jest as he tells his tale.
Most faithful holdwine to his King,
A courage that will not let him bide,
A love that is stronger than cities of stone,
Loyalest of all on that fatefull ride.
Son of a master in the Shire far away,
An ancient spell-enchanted sword,
A soldier fallen into darkness,
The terror of the Nazgul lord.
Tormented dreams of shadowland,
Through darkness deep too far to climb,
At the hands of the King, the wanderer wakes:
"I'm hungry, What's the time?"