On a warm summer's evenin', on a raid out of Mordor,

I met up with an Old Orc; we were both too tired to sleep.

So we took turns a starin' from the fire at the darkness,

'Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said: "Son, I've made a life out of raiding humans' homesteads,

"And knowin'  when to get out 'fore the arrows start to fly.

"So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of place here.

"For a taste of your Orc-draught, I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.

Then he bummed my pipe-weed and asked me for a light.

And the night got deathly quiet, his face lost all expression.

He said: "If you're gonna play the game, boy, you gotta learn to play it right.

"You got to know how to grab 'em; know where to stab 'em,

"Know when to fight it out; know when to run.

"You never eat your prisoners 'fore you get back home to Mordor.

"There'll be time enough for eatin' when the marchin's done.

"Now ev'ry Old Orc knows the secret to survivin'.

"Is knowin' when to run away, knowing when to fight. 

"'Cos ev'ry fight's a winner and ev'ry fights a loser,

"And the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

So when he'd finished speakin', he turned back toward the fire:

Crushed out his pipe-weed and faded off to sleep.

And somewhere in the darkness the Old Orc, he got eaten.

But in his final words I found a bone that I could keep.

"You got to know how to grab 'em; know where to stab 'em,

"Know when to fight it out; know when to run.

"You never eat your prisoners 'fore you get back home to Mordor.

"There'll be time enough for eatin' when the marchin's done."