Av: Adam Westlund
Bild: Håkan Ackegård

ut on the burned plain in the north
black Morgoth fought the elvish lords Belegost's dwarves did too march forth
to face the Dark Lord's orcish hordes

The dwarves from east held Glaurung back
They formed a ring to break his might
and met the Dragon's fierce attack
They wielded weapons sharp and bright

Soon, giant flames the dwarves could feel
but still not one dwarf did retreat
They bore great masks of hardened steel
So they could stand the deadly heat

The Dragon led his kinsfolk there
but he was greatest of them all
He filled the men with great despair
but not those from Azaghâl's hall

They cast away both angst and fear
and charged the Dragon, one for all
With axe in hand they all came near
to cause the Great Worm's heavy fall

The Dragon felt the axes bite
the armours of his foes were strong
Then he attacked with all his might
The brave dwarves sang their battle-song

And soon the mighty dwarves' high lord
walked forward at a slackened pace
He carried axe as well as sword
He met the dragon face to face

Azaghâl's eyes were brave and strong
behind his ominous black mask
The lord stood not in doubt for long
To slay the Dragon was his task

Azaghâl was thrown on his back
He lay under the dragon's chest
Before his eyes the world turned black
He could not leave for sacred rest

Azaghâl grasped his hidden knife
he tried to stab the dragon dead
That was the last he did in life
and badly wounded Glaurung fled

The dwarf lives always in the poem
of him the dwarves do sadly sing
They carried him away back home
their slain but honoured hero king

He lies now in his ancient mine
in caves and tunnels dark and deep
where neither sun nor moon do shine
Till end of time the king will sleep


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