Sailing to the City of Minas Tirith
with hijacked ships, on enemy's blackened sails
Fifty ships, five thousand Dunedain fighters
Tree banner, and hauberks of elven mail
All along the northbound Anduin
the fleet pulls out at Pelargir
and moves upstream, past houses, farms and woods;
billowing the dark black sails
passing ruins that have no name
and junkyards full of looted farmers' goods

So good morning Middle-Earth, how are you?
Say don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm king Aragorn, of the City of Minas Tiritith
I'll be killing five hundred orcs till the day is done

Dealing hard blows to the foe at Pelargir harbour
thousands dead and nobody's keeping score;
now pass that leather steath that holds the Anduril
and listen to the waves roaring overboard
And the sons of Rohan Riders
and the sons of Dunedain
ride their knightly horses and mighty steeds;
Southrons with their Mumakil,
Orcish hordes, it's a clash of steel
and rumble of the battle is all they feel

So good morning Middle-Earth, how are you?
Say don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm king Aragorn, of the City of Minas Tiritith
I'll be killing five hundred orcs till the day is done

Daytime at the City of Minas Tirith
meeting the friends in the heat of Pelennor field;
Gandalf, Eomer, Legolas and Faramir;
two hobbits, a dward and the Maiden of Shield
Flanking out the enemy
the fleet arrives off the sea
and disembarks at the riverside bank of slate;
the foemen see what it is all about
and battle soon turns into a rout
and the Orc hordes disappear in the Mordor's gate

So good morning Middle-Earth, how are you?
Say don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm king Aragorn, of the City of Minas Tiritith
I'll be killing five hundred orcs till the day is done