Now Grandma's a person
Who everyone likes
She bought you a train
And a bright shiny bike
But lately she hasn't
Been coming to dinner
And last time you saw her
She looked so much thinner
Now your mom and your dad said
She moved to Peru
But the truth is she died
And someday you will too
La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la
Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics
That you hear in our songs.
'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.'
Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this Modern Greece;
Tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum,
To shear the Golden Fleece.