It was a normal day in the life of a fallen Maiar in the first age. That is to say, it was boring. Mind-numbingly, horrifically, terribly, appallingly boring. And Sauron was on the verge of madness, pacing angrily back and forth across his chamber, thinking hard.

What is there to do? I've tortured the prisoners already today, I've killed a few orcs… Heck, I've even spent a few hours crafting new magic items. I AM BORED!

And then, like a flash of lightening, it came to him. He concentrated for a moment, then snapped his fingers. A piano appeared in front of him. He chuckled to himself with demented glee. Oh, this will be great! I'll have to get a few minions up here, though. What good is musical genius without an audience to appreciate it?

He swept purposefully out of the room, intent on finding a few orcs, and perhaps a few of the Black Uruks, as well as some of the humans warriors who served him. Once he had rounded up the group of very confused and curious minions, he returned to his chambers.

"And now a song I shall sing to thee, to ears intent!"

He seated himself at the piano bench, popped his knuckles (the sound created from this was enough to send a few of the smaller orcs running for cover), and began to play. And as he played, he sang.

"Rippin' through flesh is what I do best,

Tear off an arm, amputate a neck,

Eyes removed, cranium smashed,

Decomposing remains, severed in half!

Torsos hang from their own intestines,

Ripped of all bodily extensions,

Stumps writhing with infection,

Suffering a rancid amputation!"

The orcs gaped. The men cringed. The Uruks tried very, very hard to surpress hysterical laughter. A song like this had not been heard in Utumno; for this was not one of Sauron's usual songs, oh no. This… this was evil lounge music.

"My muscles tighten as I feel the rush,

I look at your corpse, starting to gush,

Internal rot, beginning to clot,

I'll swal-low your pu-us!

Suffering a rancid,

Suffering a rancid,

Suffering a rancid amp-u-tation!

Hack, rip, slice,

Carve, chop, tear,

Carvin' out your eyeballs, watch them stare,

Tear, rip, slice,

Carve, chop, hack,

Shove the entrails into a sack!

Dyin' slowly, never rest,

Nerves are quivering as I rip,

Removal of life,

On the blade of my kni-ife…" Sauron seemed very into his music, smiling pleasantly as he played, occasionally meeting the eyes of one of the cringing, retching men as if daring them to comment on his choice of music and lyrics.

"Rape the limbless cadaver!" he finished, at the top of his lungs ( or rather, at the top of his human form's lungs; had he truly sang as loud as he could, he would have brought Utumno tumbling down about their ears.)

And so it was that a new genre of music was born, and to this very day, Thursday night in Mordor is Lounge Music Night; Rancid Amputation remains a popular favorite among orcs and Uruks, and still turns men's stomachs.