HOWARD SHORE
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Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day,
To seek the pale enchanted gold.1
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells
As hammers fell, like ringing bells
In places deep where dark things sleep
In hallow hall beneath the fells
For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shape the wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
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On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To find our long forgotten gold
Goblets they carved for themselves
And harps of gold where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves
The pines were roaring on the height
The winds were moaning in the night
The fire was red, it flaming spread
The trees like torches blazed with light
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale
The dragon's ire, more fierce than fire
laid low there towers and house frail
The mountain smoked beneath the moon
The dwarves, the heard the tramp of doom
they fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the Misty Mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away ere break of day
To win our harps and gold from him!

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