Far over the Misty Mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek our pale enchanted gold 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!