In elvish days of dwarven lore,
Where Érandūliendor flowed,
In times before the ancient war,

       A Lit. professor once geeked out.

The Lord of Darkness in his lair
Sent forth from his grotesque abode
His wingéd minions of the air;

And sorcery, both bright and black
As chanted low, in ancient rhyme,
Made all the eldritch runestones crack.

       Where’s my **** phone? Honey, you seen my phone?

And so the curse of Gôrgoron
Conjured before the dawn of time
Was loosed by Åthylmírmindon!

Whose epic stand against the foes
At Beremöthelenduíl
Wrought fabled fire from winter snows !

T’was thus the hill upon the ridge
Of Flõrÿmandðlemboríl
Caused me to go and check my fridge—

       Hey honey, if you’re going shopping could you pick me up a
        six-pack?Now where’s my elvish glossary? Thought it was on
        the armrest. **** this freaking deadline…