Etten Moors - The Hobbit
Far ov-er the hazy mountain cold,
To fortress keeps and dungeon doors,
We must stay and make them pay,
To defend our home, the Etten-moors.
The wargs were roar-ing in the night,
The spiders chirping with such delight,
The dirt was red, like fire it spread,
The blood of freedom, each death it fed.
The reavers dancing, blade to blade,
Taking all in path to grave,
War-leaders spewing an-cient words,
Giving life to those that heard.
Dark arrows flying through their ranks,
Piecing armour and dropping tanks,
The air was foul with acrid smell,
De-filed corpses begin to swell.
Some folk will ne-ver forget,
The sounds of battle and smell of dead,
The clash of titans, The sting of scars,
This is the life of the angmarian.
So heed this warning, of death to all,
to those that venture off the steps to hell...