I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone
"Daddy, Daddy!" Sam's little girl cried, "Daddy! The little brat's taken my chocolate!" She pouted and cried and tugged incessantly on her tired father's arm. Sam tried to rub out the throbbing pain behind his eyes, but to no avail. What were they fighting about again? "Give it back, NOW!" He said not really knowing what he was talking about.
"But, Dad! She called me a brat!" Would it ever end? The noise, the fighting, the stress. "Your mother," he muttered, "Go find your mother." "But Dad-" "I SAID GO!" He yelled rising to his feet and pointing to the kitchen where his wife, Rosie, was cooking. His children stared at him with those big, blue eyes. His son's lip trembled, tears welled up in his eyes. "Don't worry about Dad," Sam's daughter said in her small voice. She held onto her brother's hand and patted him on the back, "Mum says ever since Uncle Frodo left that he's had a temper." She lead him into the kitchen without a backward glance. Sam sat back down and stared angrily at his feet. That wasn't true. Temper? What temper? How could Rosie talk about things like that to the children? To anyone! It had been three years, ten months, two weeks, and five days since Frodo sailed away and Sam had never felt more alone.
Some times at night, Rosie would fall fast asleep the moment she rested her head on the pillow, but Sam; Sam would lay awake, angry tears in his eyes, feeling betrayed. Abandoned. Frodo took nothing with him when he left, and now Sam cleans and dust's Bag-end, and minds the garden every single day, without fail. One day, Rosie suggested selling the old place. "Sell?! Who would I sell it to?" He demanded that day at afternoon tea. "Whoever pays the most, maybe." Replied his wife shrugging as if it were some casual, unimportant matter. "How can you be so shallow, Rosie?" Said Sam, knocking his teacup off the table in anger. "Shallow? I beg your pardon, Samwise!" Came her indignant retort as she bent to clean the shattered porcelain and spilled tea. "Yea, well, you aren't gonna get any apology outta me." Sam folded his arms across his chest. "That's Frodo's place, Rosie, I couldn't sell it to anyone. They'd contaminate it, and it wouldn't be the same. Frodo wouldn't want me to sell--" "Frodo couldn't care less!" Yelled Rosie, standing up to her full height, "He's gone. He's not coming back. Ever. Let it go, Samwise. Move on." He stared at her, shocked and angry. And after what seemed like a painfully silent eternity, he left. Without a word. And Rosie kneeled on the floor, face in hands, and cried for her husband.
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase
In Bag-end, (Sam's refuge) Rosie's husband cried as well, but not for her. Frodo. How could Sam have let him go? What was he thinking? Frodo had given him no warning, no chance of convincing him to stay, and next to no time to say goodbye. Goodbye. Sam often wondered what it was like outside of Middle Earth. It would have had to be really amazing if Frodo was able to go there forever and never see the Shire again. Never see Sam again. How could he not want to see Sam again? "After everything I did for you! After everything." Choking sobs pulled him to the ground, he was breaking down again. Often times, Samwise would cry and cry alone in Bag-end and then he would drink too much whiskey and Rosie would have to go and get him from the bar where he would yell and she would swallow tears of embarrassment. They're daughter had once said that a boy called Sam a crazy and she popped him one in the nose. Sam didn't care. He knew what the other hobbits thought of him. He was that adventure-going hobbit that was growing old, and drank too much (even for a hobbit). Oh what's the use of worrying about what they think? "They never knew nothing, from the very start." He told himself. "Nothing, nothing." Those hobbits pruned their bushes and smoked there pipes completely oblivious to what Sam and Frodo went through to save them. They knew nothing of the ring, and how tedious and painful it was for poor Mr. Frodo to carry it. Or how Gollum had tried to separate them and lead Frodo into a trap. How Frodo almost fell into the fires. Merry and Pippin missed Frodo, as well, Sam understood that. But they had each other, they were able to survive him leaving. Sam didn't like going to see them anymore. He was jealous, each had been blessed with a friend that would never leave the other's side. Sam had been horribly awakened when he realized that it was not the same between Frodo and him.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears I held your hand through all of these years But you still have
All of me
There was a small, meek knock at the door. Wiping his eyes, Samwise, opened it slowly. It was none other than Peregrin Took. He wrung his hands nervously in front of his stomach, and wore a respectful frown in his face. He made an attempt at a smile, but failed, so he took a deep breath instead. "You-you-um- haven't visited in a while," He began, "I just came to see what you were up to." Sam let out a harsh breath, almost a snort, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Where's Merry?" He said coldly. "At home, I guess." Said Pippin shrugging. What did Pippin think he was doing here? Sam didn't want to see Pippin. Or Merry. Or anyone except one hobbit. "I'm worried about you , Sam!" Said Pip a little more heart-felt than he had intended. "I'm scared." "Of what?" Sam's reply was caustic and dry. "There's nothing to be afraid of now! It's all over, over." "If there's nothing wrong--something's wrong, Sam." "NOTHING'S WRONG AND EVEN IF THERE WAS, WHY WOULD I BOTHER TO TELL YOU!?" Pippin began to cry. "Because," he whispered, " I thought that I was your friend." Sam's face almost softened, but not quite. Right now, he hated Pippin and he wanted him to cry. "You're not my friend, you never were." Sam's eyes went dark, "You're just a fool." He slammed the green door and Pippin sat on the front steps and didn't wipe the tears from his pale cheeks.
You used to captivate me By your resonating light Now I'm bound by the life you left behind Your face it haunts My once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away All the sanity in me
That night, after the children had been put to bed, Sam came home, with the smell of whiskey on him. He couldn't walk straight and he was muttering. "Shelob's got him, Samwise, you fool. Not dead, not dead." His toe missed the stone step to his door his face hit the cold stair with a slap. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Rosie tried not to look at the neighbors watching from their yard as she pulled him inside. "Gerroff, Gerroff me!" his words were slurred and difficult to understand. He pushed his wife away and his hip collided with the corner of the wooden kitchen table. A vase fell and shattered. He swore loudly. "Shhh! Sam, you'll wake the children." Whispered Rosie desperately. Ignoring her, Sam hunched his shoulders and vomited. Rosie began to cry again. It seemed like that's all she ever did lately. She loved Sam, more than anything she had ever known. He need her, and no matter what, she'd stay with him. "Please go lay down." He waved his hand at her. "Don't; don't you tell me what to do!" He said furiously. "This my house..." His breathing grew heavier. "But Sam--" "I said don't!" And without realizing what he was doing, he struck across the face, and then again, and again. Her face went blurry, her sobs muffled, then everything went black.
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone And though you're still with me I've been alone all along
A young hobbit sat alone in a graveyard with the red sunset shining on his tears. It had been ten years, four months, one week, and two days since his father died. The young hobbit often times felt alone, and betrayed by his father. He had been made the man of the house before he could even work. He was left with the mess and the tangles that his father had left behind. One day the young hobbit gathered the courage to ask how is it that his father died. "Your father was very sick." Was all she would say before sending him away to buy milk or sweep the patio. Once he asked his older sister and she had told him that their father was a crazy. "I don't believe you!" He said, aghast that she would even propose such a disrespectful theory. "Fine," She had said, shrugging, "Don't believe me, but it's true."
The young hobbit's uncles Merry and Pippin were the only ones who ever spoke well of his father. "Your father was more brave and more true than any man, elf, or dwarf could've ever been." Merry had said one day at luncheon. "It's the truth," Pippin agreed, chewing on his pipe. The young hobbit had trouble believing them, however. They always got that sad, far-away look in their eyes , the way mother did, whenever his name was mentioned.
The young hobbit had gotten himself a job as a gardener for a family of Bagginses. Their son was about his age, and the two became fast friends. In the spring, the young hobbit was planting tulips in their garden, when his friend called from the window. "Come in and have some tea, won't you?" Brushing soil off his hands, the young hobbit agreed. "I have something for you," the young hobbit's friend said when they had finished their tea. "Oh sir, you didn't have to get anything for me." His friend gave him the package anyways. "I know that you love to adventure stories." The young hobbit tore off the paper inside was an old leather bound book. The title page read: "There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale By: Bilbo Baggins and The Lord of the Rings By: Frodo Baggins" "You'll love them!" His friend said, "their fascinating." "Thank you, thank you very much, sir! But why? Why'd you give this to me?" His friend smiled. "Because I'm so glad I have you, Sam."
Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone
"Daddy, Daddy!" Sam's little girl cried, "Daddy! The little brat's taken my chocolate!" She pouted and cried and tugged incessantly on her tired father's arm. Sam tried to rub out the throbbing pain behind his eyes, but to no avail. What were they fighting about again? "Give it back, NOW!" He said not really knowing what he was talking about.
"But, Dad! She called me a brat!" Would it ever end? The noise, the fighting, the stress. "Your mother," he muttered, "Go find your mother." "But Dad-" "I SAID GO!" He yelled rising to his feet and pointing to the kitchen where his wife, Rosie, was cooking. His children stared at him with those big, blue eyes. His son's lip trembled, tears welled up in his eyes. "Don't worry about Dad," Sam's daughter said in her small voice. She held onto her brother's hand and patted him on the back, "Mum says ever since Uncle Frodo left that he's had a temper." She lead him into the kitchen without a backward glance. Sam sat back down and stared angrily at his feet. That wasn't true. Temper? What temper? How could Rosie talk about things like that to the children? To anyone! It had been three years, ten months, two weeks, and five days since Frodo sailed away and Sam had never felt more alone.
Some times at night, Rosie would fall fast asleep the moment she rested her head on the pillow, but Sam; Sam would lay awake, angry tears in his eyes, feeling betrayed. Abandoned. Frodo took nothing with him when he left, and now Sam cleans and dust's Bag-end, and minds the garden every single day, without fail. One day, Rosie suggested selling the old place. "Sell?! Who would I sell it to?" He demanded that day at afternoon tea. "Whoever pays the most, maybe." Replied his wife shrugging as if it were some casual, unimportant matter. "How can you be so shallow, Rosie?" Said Sam, knocking his teacup off the table in anger. "Shallow? I beg your pardon, Samwise!" Came her indignant retort as she bent to clean the shattered porcelain and spilled tea. "Yea, well, you aren't gonna get any apology outta me." Sam folded his arms across his chest. "That's Frodo's place, Rosie, I couldn't sell it to anyone. They'd contaminate it, and it wouldn't be the same. Frodo wouldn't want me to sell--" "Frodo couldn't care less!" Yelled Rosie, standing up to her full height, "He's gone. He's not coming back. Ever. Let it go, Samwise. Move on." He stared at her, shocked and angry. And after what seemed like a painfully silent eternity, he left. Without a word. And Rosie kneeled on the floor, face in hands, and cried for her husband.
These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase
In Bag-end, (Sam's refuge) Rosie's husband cried as well, but not for her. Frodo. How could Sam have let him go? What was he thinking? Frodo had given him no warning, no chance of convincing him to stay, and next to no time to say goodbye. Goodbye. Sam often wondered what it was like outside of Middle Earth. It would have had to be really amazing if Frodo was able to go there forever and never see the Shire again. Never see Sam again. How could he not want to see Sam again? "After everything I did for you! After everything." Choking sobs pulled him to the ground, he was breaking down again. Often times, Samwise would cry and cry alone in Bag-end and then he would drink too much whiskey and Rosie would have to go and get him from the bar where he would yell and she would swallow tears of embarrassment. They're daughter had once said that a boy called Sam a crazy and she popped him one in the nose. Sam didn't care. He knew what the other hobbits thought of him. He was that adventure-going hobbit that was growing old, and drank too much (even for a hobbit). Oh what's the use of worrying about what they think? "They never knew nothing, from the very start." He told himself. "Nothing, nothing." Those hobbits pruned their bushes and smoked there pipes completely oblivious to what Sam and Frodo went through to save them. They knew nothing of the ring, and how tedious and painful it was for poor Mr. Frodo to carry it. Or how Gollum had tried to separate them and lead Frodo into a trap. How Frodo almost fell into the fires. Merry and Pippin missed Frodo, as well, Sam understood that. But they had each other, they were able to survive him leaving. Sam didn't like going to see them anymore. He was jealous, each had been blessed with a friend that would never leave the other's side. Sam had been horribly awakened when he realized that it was not the same between Frodo and him.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears I held your hand through all of these years But you still have
All of me
There was a small, meek knock at the door. Wiping his eyes, Samwise, opened it slowly. It was none other than Peregrin Took. He wrung his hands nervously in front of his stomach, and wore a respectful frown in his face. He made an attempt at a smile, but failed, so he took a deep breath instead. "You-you-um- haven't visited in a while," He began, "I just came to see what you were up to." Sam let out a harsh breath, almost a snort, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Where's Merry?" He said coldly. "At home, I guess." Said Pippin shrugging. What did Pippin think he was doing here? Sam didn't want to see Pippin. Or Merry. Or anyone except one hobbit. "I'm worried about you , Sam!" Said Pip a little more heart-felt than he had intended. "I'm scared." "Of what?" Sam's reply was caustic and dry. "There's nothing to be afraid of now! It's all over, over." "If there's nothing wrong--something's wrong, Sam." "NOTHING'S WRONG AND EVEN IF THERE WAS, WHY WOULD I BOTHER TO TELL YOU!?" Pippin began to cry. "Because," he whispered, " I thought that I was your friend." Sam's face almost softened, but not quite. Right now, he hated Pippin and he wanted him to cry. "You're not my friend, you never were." Sam's eyes went dark, "You're just a fool." He slammed the green door and Pippin sat on the front steps and didn't wipe the tears from his pale cheeks.
You used to captivate me By your resonating light Now I'm bound by the life you left behind Your face it haunts My once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away All the sanity in me
That night, after the children had been put to bed, Sam came home, with the smell of whiskey on him. He couldn't walk straight and he was muttering. "Shelob's got him, Samwise, you fool. Not dead, not dead." His toe missed the stone step to his door his face hit the cold stair with a slap. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Rosie tried not to look at the neighbors watching from their yard as she pulled him inside. "Gerroff, Gerroff me!" his words were slurred and difficult to understand. He pushed his wife away and his hip collided with the corner of the wooden kitchen table. A vase fell and shattered. He swore loudly. "Shhh! Sam, you'll wake the children." Whispered Rosie desperately. Ignoring her, Sam hunched his shoulders and vomited. Rosie began to cry again. It seemed like that's all she ever did lately. She loved Sam, more than anything she had ever known. He need her, and no matter what, she'd stay with him. "Please go lay down." He waved his hand at her. "Don't; don't you tell me what to do!" He said furiously. "This my house..." His breathing grew heavier. "But Sam--" "I said don't!" And without realizing what he was doing, he struck across the face, and then again, and again. Her face went blurry, her sobs muffled, then everything went black.
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone And though you're still with me I've been alone all along
A young hobbit sat alone in a graveyard with the red sunset shining on his tears. It had been ten years, four months, one week, and two days since his father died. The young hobbit often times felt alone, and betrayed by his father. He had been made the man of the house before he could even work. He was left with the mess and the tangles that his father had left behind. One day the young hobbit gathered the courage to ask how is it that his father died. "Your father was very sick." Was all she would say before sending him away to buy milk or sweep the patio. Once he asked his older sister and she had told him that their father was a crazy. "I don't believe you!" He said, aghast that she would even propose such a disrespectful theory. "Fine," She had said, shrugging, "Don't believe me, but it's true."
The young hobbit's uncles Merry and Pippin were the only ones who ever spoke well of his father. "Your father was more brave and more true than any man, elf, or dwarf could've ever been." Merry had said one day at luncheon. "It's the truth," Pippin agreed, chewing on his pipe. The young hobbit had trouble believing them, however. They always got that sad, far-away look in their eyes , the way mother did, whenever his name was mentioned.
The young hobbit had gotten himself a job as a gardener for a family of Bagginses. Their son was about his age, and the two became fast friends. In the spring, the young hobbit was planting tulips in their garden, when his friend called from the window. "Come in and have some tea, won't you?" Brushing soil off his hands, the young hobbit agreed. "I have something for you," the young hobbit's friend said when they had finished their tea. "Oh sir, you didn't have to get anything for me." His friend gave him the package anyways. "I know that you love to adventure stories." The young hobbit tore off the paper inside was an old leather bound book. The title page read: "There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale By: Bilbo Baggins and The Lord of the Rings By: Frodo Baggins" "You'll love them!" His friend said, "their fascinating." "Thank you, thank you very much, sir! But why? Why'd you give this to me?" His friend smiled. "Because I'm so glad I have you, Sam."