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.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hoard

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They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

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.

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.