The Last Fires of Khurin-Azur

Well the mountain groans in the winter night, And the old fires burn low and red. Pick on the stone till the daylight’s gone, Then drink with the silent dead. These halls were carved before men came, When the gods still walked the deep. Now every year another beard Is laid where the kings all sleep. Swing that hammer slow and sure, Deep in Khurin-Azur. Gold runs bright but blood runs more, Down in Khurin-Azur. Gorgon waits beyond the door, Goblin drums in the mountain roar. Swing that hammer while you endure — Stone will claim Khurin-Azur. Urga-Zai crawl through the broken ways, Through tunnels we sealed with bone. The watchfires fade on the northern gates, And the deep halls stand alone. We trade our silver for bread and steel, Across the cold pass roads. But the mountain keeps what the mountain’s owed, And the tally always grows. Swing that hammer slow and sure, Deep in Khurin-Azur. Gold runs bright but blood runs more, Down in Khurin-Azur. Gorgon waits beyond the door, Goblin drums in the mountain roar. Swing that hammer while you endure — Stone will claim Khurin-Azur. Old Tjorgim sits on a granite throne, His crown worn thin with years. He hears the mountain whisper low Through stone and iron and tears. If the gates fall down and the fires grow cold, And the last beard turns to dust, The mountain will keep our names in stone — Long after iron rusts. Swing that hammer slow and sure, Deep in Khurin-Azur. Gold runs bright but blood runs more, Down in Khurin-Azur. When the last dwarf falls in the mountain war, And the old halls stand no more — Stone will remember, cold and pure, The sons of Khurin-Azur.