If orcs were minstrels. To the tune of Gil galad was an elven king. Not to be taken seriously, just a laugh.
Gothmog was a balrog king
Of him the orcs tunelessly sing
The last whose realm was dark and fiery
Between the mountains and the sea.
His whip was long, his axe was keen
His flaming head afar was seen,
Of Angband's thralls the countless cries
Were mirrored in his pitiless eyes.
But long ago he rode away
And where he dwelleth none can say
For 'gainst Ecthelion he fell in spar
In Gondolin where the fountains are.
