The world was made with mighty hands, A blessing rests upon our lands, The home we have wrought, a sacred keep, The glorious halls of Hammerdeep
The craftsman shapes eternal art, The world seeks out the merchant’s cart, At banquet hall where blood is strong. The Dwarven mines ring out in song,
Where jewels drive the dark away, And night becomes as bright as day, A honest end from an honest start, For wealth is found inside the heart.
Where truth is crowned as king of all, and guile is a bitter gall, here sweat must flow before the ale, And apron donned before the mail.
But when a Dwarf is sent to war, He pines for home, his heart is sore, Though never was such bravery, Nor strength of hand or weaponry,
A Dwarven fire is raging heat, His foe is fallen at his feet, with painful cries, the spirit stalls Of evil, when the hammer falls.
The world bemoans the lifeless hands, The Dwarves who died to keep their lands, The valiant souls of Hammerdeep Shall echo in eternal sleep.
The water flows, the fire glows With hammer blows the kingdom grows We work to set the earth aright To build our realm of Dwarven mightTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
