A folksong heard among the orcs of the Sunset Mountains

Upon the shattered stone we stand, The blood of dwarves upon our hand. Their halls now echo with our roar, Their king lies broken, head no more.

The blade we claim, its edge supreme, Now forged anew in orcish dream. Through ash and ruin, we ascend, The dwarves' proud line meets its end.

Raise the steel, let triumph ring, The orcs now rule where dwarves were king. Their stronghold crushed, their glory slain, The spoils of war are ours to reign.

Victory is ours, fierce and true, The dwarves are dust, their days are through. Sing, oh orcs, of conquest's might, For we are the masters of this night!