The Mountain's Fall
Gleaming golden hoard,
dazzling great gems of old.
With each strike, metal folds,
parts of a story of mountains untold.
Keep feeding the fire,
raise the blazes' ire.
In burning furnace, metals cry,
a sweet, renewing sounds of a choir.
Thrones carved in golden beauty,
The Arkenstone, still there to see.
Waltzing feet echoed the halls.
the Elder Days before the fall.
Now heard the tramps of doom,
with eyes set for gold-filled rooms.
Each step reaps a soul,
each breath wrought ash and coal.
The bells sang in sorrow,
The Dale futilely fired the arrows.
To Erebor they retreat,
But Erebor fell, and the dragon now sleeps.
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