'A song, eh?' replied the dwarf. 'Well, I do know one, a lay that is taught to all of my kin as children. It goes like this...'

He stepped up onto a chair to get a better view of the room at large, then began. 

'Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, on twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves,
And harps of gold, where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the heights,
The wind was moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale,
And men looked up with faces pale.
The dragon's ire, more fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon.
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled the hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,
To dungeons deep and caverns dim,
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!

The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay be night or day,
And dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
The branches groaned, the forest moaned,
And leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
All movement in the forest ceased.
But shrill and harsh across the marsh,
Its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
The reeds were rattling--on it went.
O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,
Where racing clouds were torn and rent.

It passed the Lonely Mountain bare,
And swept above the dragon's lair:
There black and dark lay boulders stark,
And flying smoke was in the air.

It left the world and took its flight
Over the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sale upon the gale,
And stars were fanned to leaping light.

Under the Mountain dark and tall,
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall!

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong.
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.

The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! Wandering folk, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste!
The king of friend and kin has need.

Now call we over the mountains cold,
'Come back unto the caverns old!'
Here at the gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.

The king has come unto his hall
Under the Mountain dark and tall.
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away, ere break of day
Far over the wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell.
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!'

He stepped down from the chair, his throat slightly hoarse after declaiming the long poem.

'And now a drink, bartender,' he said. 'Or a goblet of that wine, Southron. It does not make much of a difference to me.'

walks in and and looks for grondy and thorin.

may i have a drink and some food. your finest grondy please?

and sets down at the bar and waits for the food and drink.

'I was speaking to the person who has just entered the inn,' said Arann, shaking Eruheran's hand. He replayed what the Southron had just said in his head, and hurriedly took his hand away. 'Dead King of Chásor? What do you mean?’

"I have died. In a way, I have died 3 Times. Pretty soon, that will become four times. What about you? Anyway, I was turned into a Nazgul, my first Death, Turned into a Human, my second Death, Killed by Death, my third, and the curse Michael Jackson put on me when I magically came back as a Zombie means I will die when my Son returns to the inn." Eruheran explained, counting with his fingers. 

Place hasn't changed? The Cellars and Underground Tunnels are now fairly damaged, the Karaoke machine died mysteriously, there is now some loudspeakers connected to a system in the cellars controlled by me, and the roof has been patched up once or twice due to bad weather.

Yes, He is sane Arran. He became a Nazgul during the 1st Age, and his Kingdom of small villages and fields went into Hibernation. After the Nazgul lost the war of the Ring, he decided to come to this inn. He attacked the place before being somehow defeated and returned to normal. He then woke up his Kingdom, adopted a son and came back to the Inn. He was killed in the Inn before his son arrived. Fornad is currently writing something about Death and Eruheran's son ReRecovering the Kingdom. 

This is generally normal for this thread, I would say. But otherwise, he is generally insane. 

Thorin rose and clapped loudly.

"That was a good song master dwarf and deserves fully the complementary tankard of Gimli's Finest (TM) and some hot crispy balrog wings!"

Thorin put the above mentioned items before Fjorgyn. "Enjoy Master Dwarf," he grinned.