I breakfast with the sun every morning
Stoke the fire, wake the forge
Tie my braided hair, don my apron
Tremble under tools handed down by the fathers

The hammer feels heavy on my hands today
I bow my heart and remember to pray

“Oh Maker of the earth and The Children
Hammer of The One, hear my cry
Forge in me a heart of molten rock
Until the Seven Fathers rise
I seek not seven hoards
Nor the seven rings
Nor greed of gold that they bring
Give my arm great strength
Bid my anvil sing
Let this blade to the orc
Vengeance bring”

I supper with this song every evening
A fireside tale, time to rest the forge
Loose my braided beard, hang my apron
I brood upon the craft handed down by The Fathers
The hammer felt light in my hand today
I thank The Maker for this dwarven blade