Elrohir and everybody went sliding off the plate
To the dirty ground below
With the slaves and trash and all the rabble and
Down upon the floor they struggle to roll
Their boulders across spoon handles
And mesmerize their eyes into belief that
This crumb is a mountain
This speck is a town
So Elrohir, if you expect to rise
From the depths of the ashes of your
Nuclear winter, you must
Be prepared to lose
That which you love the most
Yes, that
That crumb is a mountain
That speck is a town
These insects are overlords
Roving through and counting out their
Census on a six-flanged breadcrust abacus
Kitchen sink is dirty again
Give me your chastisement again
So, Elrohir, if you wanna see your friends
In the afterlife, be a good little elf
And fight the war
Between the orcs and man of
Middle-earth. Yeah
This crumb is not a mountain
This speck is definitely not a town
These insects are overlords
Roving through and counting out their
Census on a six-flanged breadcrust abacus