| Where the winds sing the laments of times long gone, | |
| Where the elves dance their dances of solitude, | |
| Hearken to the mountain, | |
| Can you hear the echoes of the hammer's beat, | |
| From deep within the shadows? | |
| The Lord of the Blacksmiths keeps forging on, | |
| Through the endless time. | |
| Master of the anvil, | |
| Alloys the metals with an essence of magic. | |
| With wisdom and sorcery, | |
| From the beginning of time, | |
| Magnificent works are forged. | |
| For Gods and for mighty Kings. | |
| Uncrushable shields, | |
| Power-belts and magic Rings, | |
| Swords that never miss, | |
| Scepters and Crowns and other things. | |
| There is a Holy presence in his hidden existence. | |
| Listen to the hymn, | |
| It sings in the galleries. | |
| Powerful runes he carves, | |
| Into the shining steel. | |
| To have protection, | |
| From the powers of mystery. |
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