Moria by Alan Lee
The world is grey, the mountains old, The forgeās fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durinās halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dĆ»m. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. ā The Song of DurinĀ
















