I promise not to tell a lie
Cross my heart
and hope to die
I know what i say
and i know that it's only
Through the fog
and the banks of the Mississippi
At first i was sure
That i was going crazy
A ghostly serenade
It started singing.
I know that i'm losing my credibility
but i know what i saw
and i know that it's only
I swear on the grave
of my late darling
He had a song he'd always sing.
Most of the songs I sing, they have that blue feeling to it. They have that sorry feeling. And I don't know what I'm sorry about... I don't!
— Happy or sad?
— Sad.
— Okay, but I warn you; I'll break your heart.
— Already broken.
Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this Modern Greece;
Tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum,
To shear the Golden Fleece.
'Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he [Treebeard] said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song. Aye,' he sighed, 'we may help the other peoples before we pass away. Still, I should have liked to see the songs come true about the Entwives. I should dearly have liked to see Fimbrethil again. But there, my friends, songs like trees bear fruit only in their own time and their own way: and sometimes they are withered untimely.'