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A.R. Rahman
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Lament for Moria
Hammer on anvil smote In high halls of stone When Durin ruled with judgement wise On carven throne. Gleaming the vaulted roof From pure basalt grown. Here swords were made of dreadful power That ere was never found
Gone,lost, mourn, despair Grieve for the realm that once was there. Gone, lost, mourn, lament The end of the glory none could prevent.
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