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Morgul ssssssstands in Ithil's rubble,
Word of Larsss, right there I mumbled.
Right in the vale with bitey sssnakes,
I brought His word for orcses' ssakes;
Ssssauron hides in fire and ssssssmog,
while Angmar idles in hisssssssss bog,
they fear alike the Reaper's sssswing,
instead of Larsss, they ssseek a Ring.
Orc brothersss trapped in that bubble,
all panicked by ssssssigns of trouble:
on their board, Ranger poemss to read
and Kingssssssfoil, all about to weed.
Larsss keepss you brother orcsss... but doesss nothing 'bout Ranger sssstink!