The 4th Age - Dwarven Hammers

Beneath the hollow stone we lie,

Where ember fades and echoes sigh,

The roots of night run deep and old,

Where no man’s fire can burn the cold.

Oh carry low, the buried flame,

Through ash and bone,

through dust and name,

For what was lost still calls us near,

In dreams that tremble under fear.

Oh sing not loud,

but sing it true,

For dark remembers more than you,

And in the deep,

the deep below, The oldest debts still wait to grow.

The iron slept, the anvils wept,

In halls where silent shadows crept,

The gold forgot the hands that wrought,

And turned to grief in every thought.

A crown once carved from starless night,

Now drifts beyond all

living sight,

Yet whispers cling to blood and breath— A song that binds the

living death.

So tread with care,

you sons of stone,

For none who wake it walk alone,

And if you hear the mountain groan— It calls you back… it

calls you home.