Far over the Misty Mountains cold, 
To dungeons deep and caverns old,

The pines were roaring on the heights, 
The wind was moaning in the night, 
The fire was red, it flaming spread, 
The trees like torches blazed with light. 
 
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.

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,  
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.

Far over the wood and mountain tall.
Though wind may blow and rain may fall