Fifty thousand Tolkiens
I saw in my vision
Don't know what it all means
Not a faint suspicion.

Fifty thousand Tolkiens
A pipe for every bloke
Matches lit, then all scenes
Obscured by walls of smoke.

There, a Jackson Peter
Frolicks on the lawn!
Falsifier, cheater!
Get him ere he's gone!

Fifty thousand Tolkiens
Are a force indeed
In a pack like sardines
Run like a stampede

Fifty thousand Tolkiens
Trample Jackson dead
Then to vanish all seems -
I wake up in my bed.