Misty Mountains Cold Achazia

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

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 their towers and houses frail

The mountain smoked beneath the moon
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom
They fled the 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