From ashes a fire be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless shall again be king
The world is grey, the mountains old
The forge's fire is ashen and cold
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls
The shadow lies upon his tomb
But still the sunken stars appear
In the dark and windless mirrormere
There lies his crown in waterdeep
'Til Durin wakes again from sleep
A deadly sword, a healing hand
A trumpet voice, a burning hand
A lord of wisdom
Died
Fire and shadow, both defied
In Khazad-dum his wisdom died
In joy thou hast lived
In joy thou hast lived
If thou hearest the cry
Of the gull on the shore
Thy soul shall then rest
In the forest no more
