Beneath the mountains mighty stones,

The Dwarves of old did build their homes,

The halls of yonder years grow silent,

Yet in the dark still prone to violence.

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On top of mountains peaks of white,

A roar, a storm, a sight of fright,

Firey peak of flaming red,

The great drakes do make their bed.

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What lay in yonder mountain pass,

Or below in dwarven streets of brass,

The secrets of many years gone by,

Perhaps will be worth and adventurers try.