The company of Thorin Oakensheild, travelling to reclaim the lost city of Erebor.

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 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
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day
To claim our long-forgotten gold
Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold, where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves
The pines were roaring on the heights
The winds was moaning in the night
The fire was red, it flaming spread
The trees like torches blazed with light
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale
The dragon's ire, more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail
The mountain smoked beneath the moon
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom (tramp of doom)
They fled their 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
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old