When the Shire was unblighted,
Hobbits killed when they must,
But slew not the peaceful,
And not from blood lust,
Those days fade in memory,
They are at an end.
It was a cruel halfling
Who slew my best friend.
Now hobbits do murder
And evil runs free.
It was a cruel halfling
Who slew my Susie.
In the elven havens,
In a town by the sea,
I bought her, my helper
And friend for to be.
She carried my burdens
Over meadow and lea,
And the tag round her fair neck
Said, "My name is Susie."
Chestnut was her color,
Deep brown were her eyes,
Like clear glowing agates,
So friendly and wise.
I smiled when I saw her
And blithe were my days
When riding on Susie
Or letting her graze.
From the havens to Fornost
We rode the northwest,
And always I'd stable her
Where the grain was the best.
When camping at night-time
And brushing her hair
I always felt pleasure
That my friend was right there.
On a day in Halimath,
A day of ill luck,
By a well in an elf-town
Stood a young Harfoot buck.
All smiling and laughing,
And fair for to see,
His teeth shining whitely,
It was Pippuri.
I smiled nicely at him
And gave courtesy,
Then I went to the stable
And rode my Susie.
We rode on the hill-paths
And I led my dear friend.
On that peaceful trailside
Her journey did end.
In that fatal hour
I let my thoughts roam,
Away From all Knowledge
Of Arda, my home.
And as my thoughts wandered,
On those hills near the sea,
Along he came sneaking,
The cruel Pippuri.
"Is this your pony? -
Not any more!"
Then he stabbed with his dagger
In a fountain of gore.
He killed not to butcher,
He killed not for greed.
He killed just for killing
Of my willing steed.
He killed like a killer,
A thing from the East.
She was the animal,
But he was the beast!
Oh, where is my helper?
Oh, where is my friend?
She lies on the trailside,
Her life at an end.
I wept as I burned her
On those hills near the sea.
Then I set out to find him,
The cruel Pippuri.
I trailed him to Greenholm,
And eastward toward Bree.
In an inn by the Water,
I found Pippuri.
"Oh why did you kill her,
And slay my best friend?"
He laughed at my sorrow;
He laughed without end.
"What harm had she done you
That you stabbed her so sore?"
He laughed and he laughed
As he rolled on the floor.
Without offer of blood-price
Or word of regret,
He fled to the inn's rooms
And cowers there yet.
What price for her soft hair?
What price for her eyes?
What price for my best friend
Who on the hill lies?
Now I travel the woodlands,
My heart is grieved sore,
For such a companion
I will find never more.
And I borrow stray ponies
That I find wandering free,
And sometimes, forgetting,
I call them Susie.
But I keep my heart captive
And keep my heart cool,
For it's not wise to care;
Even hobbits are cruel.
Go down to the Woody End,
Pippuri, the *troll*!
Go down the muddy path
And stand in the hole.
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