Moria, where dwarven axes awoke flames,
Lost within the carven rocks of another age,
Balrog grave, or not?
For its fires were awoken,
And by greed its bonds cut open,
And its heavy step on flint grey earth
Struck fear in their hearts.
And orcs to it were drawing,
Like rats at gristle knawing,
To the fires of the first dark lord,
Of Morgroth lain to rest.
And this it was, O Durin’s Bane
That cut short so his rightful reign
O’er lands his people built,
And here did live.
And secret are its gates this day,
But if ye find another way,
I pray thee: be so wary of the dark,
For in the sweeping chasms
And the ghosts of feasts and kings
Old evil dwells around ye in this dark.