Deep in the belly of the mountain,
Farther than anyone goes,
Drips the life from everclear fountain,
Mixing here with the red rock flows,


They say that if any man dares it,
And takes from that rock down so deep,
He will find the black ore oh so sacred,
only on deaths bright forge can he reap,


Black iron oh so pure it is magic,
That it  turns the very sun dark,
The thought of it can be quite tragic,
The touch of it quells lifes spark,


So deeper ere deeper he must tread,
Past the realms of all living men,
To find the last forge of the dead,
And smelt the black metal again,


But ware or you'll never get home,
Cause once old sir death gets a grip,
For your transgresions you must atone,
And from you your life he shall rip.


So think twice before you go down there,
Maybe stay home and tend to your kettle,
Or settle back in a big comfy chair,
And dream never more of black metal.


- Flint FireForge