In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter it's frosty even here
Where night time holds no horror, as long as stars appear.
Here in Elrond's garden our breath hangs in the air,
Sign that hope yet lingers in the face of dark despair.

So in the Bag End garden, there'll be little that's still green,
Yet in among the holly, red berries can be seen;
And though beneath the bare fruit trees, all seems dull and drear,
I know there will be snowdrops with the turning of the year.

In the Gaffer's kitchen the fire is blazing bright
And cosy lamps are burning to chase away the night,
But I must make this journey, to that land of fearful flame,
Where shadows serve the purpose of the One we will not name.

Still down in The Green Dragon, far away from fear,
There'll be smoke and song and laughter and pots of best Shire beer,
But now that it's in danger, I must forgo the Inn
To travel with my Master and end what we begin.

I'm willing to bear burdens, though I'm not as strong as Bill,
But fear I'll lack for courage when there's orcs or wargs to kill.
I am no mighty wizard with magic in my staff
Nor e'en the best at merriment or making people laugh.

So what can I offer?  Why should I go?
For I am no great hero, with sword or axe or bow.
Yet if there's strength in friendship I might just play a part,
I'll take Lord Elrond's blessing and follow my heart, follow my heart.

Saruman is Coming to Town

Oh!  You better watch out
Plug up those ears
He don't need to shout
To wake up your fears.
Saruman is coming to town!

He's bought him a spy
To worm his way in
To the hapless hearts of your kith and kin.
Saruman is coming to town!

He stalks you when you're sleeping
Yet smiles when you're awake.
He slips into your darkest soul
With the slyness of a snake.

Oh!  When hope takes a walk
He won't shed a tear
With his new kinda orc
And his palantir
Saruman is coming to town!

Torches

Torches, torches, run with torches
All the way to Rath Dínen!
The Steward's House must end in ashes
As his life's gone down the pan.

"Ah, his blood's aflame already
There's hardly need to build a pyre,
No long slow sleep of death embalméd
Just knife and sacrificial fire.

Go you fools and play with healing!
I've seen it all on pay-to-view,
Best use my oil-soaked son as kindling
For my eternal barbeque."

*****

I'm feeling a bit bad about doing this to a lovely Spanish Carol!  Here are the original words in case people do not know it.

Torches, torches, run with torches
All the way to Bethlehem!
Christ is born and now lies sleeping:
Come and sing your song to him!

"Ah, ro-ro, ro-ro my baby,
Ah, ro-ro, my love, ro-ro:
Sleep you well, my heart's own darling,
While we sing you our ro-ro.

Sing, my friends, and make you merry,
Joy and mirth, and joy again:
Lo, he lives, the King of heaven,
Now and evermore.  Amen".

I'm Dreaming of a Black Yuletide

I'm dreaming of a black Yuletide
Twill be like none we've ever known,
When the spear tips glisten
And Uruks listen
To the screams of Gondor's tarks o'erthrown.
I'm dreaming of a black Yuletide
With every lesser orc I thwack.
May we rape and pillage and sack
And may all of Middle-earth be black.