The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dum.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
__________________
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, sleepies, we must go, yes, we must go at once."
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