The Return to the Sacred Hill

Beneath the towering, shadowed mountain,
The king has entered his ancient hall.
His greatest enemy—the fearsome dragon—is slain,
And so shall all who threaten him fall.

His sword is keen, his spear is long,
His arrows fly fast; his gates stand strong.
He is brave, drawn to the gleam of gold.
No longer shall the dwarves be wronged.

Long ago, the dwarves cast powerful spells,
Their hammers rang like chiming bells.
In deep halls where darkness sleeps,
They built their homes beneath the steep.

They crafted silver chains that held starlight,
And crowns that shimmered with fiery might.
From twisted wire, they shaped dragon flame,
And drew harp songs, no two the same.

Now the mountain throne is free once more!
O wandering kin, hear the call and soar—
Make haste across the barren land,
Your king needs you to take a stand.

We call to you from mountains cold,
Return to caverns carved of old.
Here at the gates, the king awaits,
With treasures rich—gems and golden plates.

The king has come to claim his hall,
Beneath the mountain, proud and tall.
The dragon lies defeated, dead—
And so shall fall all foes ahead.