In the final rays when the sun downs the hill
there is a trace of rubi and ember that fill these halls
The mighty clash of the hammer on steel
will turn our flesh into stone
gold chambers deep beneath the dreams
will be the bed in wich our heads we turn
All my ancestors, right next to the big arquitect
are waiting, singing, eating and sharing for my return.
Drink and feast, split your ale
Tomorrow the blood will cover the snow
The clash of our axes will sure let them know
that the dwarfs are marching on Durins Day