Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To find our longforgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the heights, The winds were moaning in the night, The fire was red, it flaming spread, The trees like torches blazed with light.
0
0
Related videos
Preparing
To view the site materials you should be more than or equal to 18 years old