Illustration by S.C. Watson

by Rob Balder

To the tune of “Lucille,” performed by Kenny Rogers, written by Roger Bowling and Hal Bynum.


At a Middle Earth battle, they herded like cattle,
Bet that’ll look good on the screen.
The Second Age ending,
The Dark Lord ascending,
His deficit spending’s obscene.

The foes numbered millions,
Or possibly billions,
It’s how Silmarillions get penned.
Against trolls, orcs and giants,
They stood in defiance,
The last great alliance of elves and of men.

Their hero Elendil,
All tricked-out in mithril,
He carried the sword called Narsil.
With a warrior’s scowl on, he went to face Sauron,
To the Foul One he raised up his steel.

But Sauron just laughed,
Smashed it off at the haft,
And Elendil, he knew he was dead.
This relic he trusted,
Summarily busted.
Disgusted, he looked at the pieces and said…

“You picked a fine time to leave me, Narsil.
400 legions of orcs in the field.
Been through some good wars, and you’ve been a good sword,
But Good Lord, your timing’s unreal!
You picked a fine time to leave me, Narsil.”

His final words spoken, Elendil got croakin’,
But the broken sword still was employed.
With one wicked flesh wound, his son nicked an heirloom,
We all know he should have destroyed.

This story may ramble,
But it’s just a preamble
To the shambles which later occurred.
As down through the ages,
And twelve hundred pages,
Elendil’s resounding complaint can be heard.