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
Fifteen birds in five fir-trees Their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze What funny little birds, they have no wings Oh what shall we do with the funny little things?
Down the swift dark stream you go Back to lands you once did know! Leave the halls and caverns deep Leave the northern mountains steep
The King beneath the mountains The king of carven stone The lord of silver fountains Shall come into his own!
Roads go ever ever on Over rock and under tree By caves where sun has never shone By streams that never find the sea
Old [name] is a merry fellow Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow None has ever caught him, for [name] he is the master His songs are stronger songs...
The cow jumped over the Moon And the little dog laughed to see such fun And the Saturday dish went off at a run with the silver Sunday spoon
All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost The old that is strong does not wither Deep roots are not reached by the frost
Again she fled, but swift he came Tinúviel! Tinúviel! He called her by her elvish name And there she halted listening
The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere
The finest rockets ever seen They burst in stars of blue and green Or after thunder golden showers Came falling like a rain of flowers
Learn now the lore of Living Creatures! First name the four, the free peoples Eldest of all, the elf-children Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses
When stride is long, and breath is deep and keen the mountain-air Come back to me! Come back to me and say my land is fair!
Where now the horse and rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk and the bright hair flowing?
The cold hard lands, they bites our hands They gnaws our feet The rocks and stones are like old bones All bare of meat
Forth rode the king, fear behind him Fate before him. Fealty kept he; Oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them Forth rode Théoden
Grey ship, grey ship do you hear them calling The voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me
This bone I stole But what be bones that lie in a hole? Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o’ lead Afore I found his shinbone
Old Tomnoddy, all big body Old Tomnoddy can’t spy me! Attercop! Attercop! Down you drop! You’ll never catch me up your tree!
Here grass is still growing and leaves are yet swinging The white water flowing and elves are still singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the Valley!
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