As translated from the book of Longbeards page 431
Lonely they stand, condemned to watch and wait.
Clouds gather around their highest peaks, time passes by them, water around them and wind over them.
Although "misty" is the name they have been given.
And beneath it, beneath it lies the work of the greatest of folk. The legacy the mightiest of people, and the most kingly of kings.
The halls wait for its children to be reclaimed. And with the sound of marching feet and thundering beards he will once awake again from sleep.
And with the deathless among them, they will thrive once more until time is no more.
The world is grey the mountains old, the forges fire is ashen cold. No harp is rung, no hammer falls.
The darkness dwells in Durins halls.
The shadows lies upon his tomb, in Moria in Khazád-Dûm.
But still the sunken starts appear, in dark and windless mirrormeer.
There lies his crown in Water deep until the deathless wakes again from sleep.
