In the heart of Bree, where the roads converge,

The Prancing Pony's sign, a beacon to emerge,

A haven for travelers, weary and worn,

Where tales are told, and laughter is born.

At the Prancing Pony, where the fire burns bright,

We gather 'neath the sign, on this merry night,

With ale and with tales, our spirits take flight,

In the Prancing Pony's warmth, we'll dance through the night.

Strider's eyes, like the stars, shine bright and bold,

As he whispers secrets, of the road to be told,

Frodo and his friends, with wonder in their eyes,

Listen close, as the tales of old, begin to rise.

At the Prancing Pony, where the fire burns bright,

We gather 'neath the sign, on this merry night,

With ale and with tales, our spirits take flight,

In the Prancing Pony's warmth, we'll dance through the night.

The music plays, the laughter flows free,

As the patrons of the Pony, let their spirits be,

The room is alive, with the rhythm and the beat,

As the Prancing Pony's magic, our hearts do greet.

The night wears on, the tales grow old,

As the Fellowship, their stories unfold,

Of peril and of danger, of courage and of might,

As they prepare to depart, into the morning light.

At the Prancing Pony, where the fire burns bright,

We gather 'neath the sign, on this merry night,

With ale and with tales, our spirits take flight,

In the Prancing Pony's warmth, we'll dance through the night.

The Prancing Pony's sign, a beacon in the night,

Guides us on our journey, through the darkness and the light,

May its warmth and magic, forever be our guide,

As we ride the roads, with the Fellowship's pride.