My heart is breaking
My legs are aching,
To Mordor I go, with hopes now low,
But all in a fuss, we go on, now shaking
All in a line, or you may call it a row,
We march on, and on till the sun must go
To see the daylight fading, and moon coming high
I wish now to be back home, if ever it will be so
Now we run, with no time for fun, we must fly
On and on we go, with no good fish to fry
They told me 'Run fast, run hard little Hobbit,'
However much I wish to rest, I can not be sly
By hills, and water, past plains, and places odd
Past hills, oh how the sun went down it!
Stoping to rest was a rare gift, with a fair price
'I forgot my rope!' Said Sam 'Oh, hob-nobs!'
'I wonder what the Gaffer would say about my not, without my spices!'
We ran on, and begain to be cold as ice!
The Shire would never be so freezing, I thought
Sam looked sad 'And I'm all out of Rice!'