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Bordin grease beard

​[Intro] (The rhythmic sound of a heavy steam piston: HISS-CLANK, HISS-CLANK) (A deep, gravelly hum joins in, followed by a sudden burst of mandolin) (Bordin shouts: "Oil the joints and stoke the coals! We’ve got steel to wake!") ​[Verse 1] Deep in the belly where the magma flows, Where the soot is thick and the furnace glows! Bordin stands with a wrench in hand, The master of sparks in the mountain land! He doesn't sing to the ancient stone, He speaks in the language of the gear and bone! With a leather apron and a soot-stained face, He’s keeping the mountain at a mechanical pace! ​[Pre-Chorus] (Music speeds up with a frantic, distorted hurdy-gurdy melody) A turn of the bolt and a hiss of the steam, Building the heart of a clockwork dream! If it’s broken and rusted, or frozen in grime, Bordin will fix it in double-the-time! ​[Chorus] (Heavy, stomping anthem with a massive dwarven choir) CLANK! BANG! THE HAMMER FALLS! Echoing through the iron halls! GREASE AND GOLD! OIL AND STEEL! Pray to the turn of the cog and the wheel! BORDIN IRONFIST! King of the forge! Feeding the fire in the mountain’s gorge! ​[Verse 2] He built a dragon with a copper hide, With a thousand pistons pumping inside! He fixed the hinges on the Great Stone Door, That hadn't been moved since the Age of War! He drinks his ale from a pressurized tank, With a "Cheers!" and a "Clatter!" and a "Heave!" and a "Clank!" The only dwarf who’d rather find a screw, Than a vein of mithril or a diamond or two! ​[Bridge] (The metal guitars drop out for a heavy, percussive "anvil-beat" breakdown) (Chanted rhythmically) STOKE THE FIRE. (Anvil hit!) TURN THE GEAR. (Anvil hit!) BORDIN LIVES. (Anvil hit!) WITHOUT THE FEAR. (Anvil hit!) (A blistering, fast-paced mandolin solo that mimics the sound of whirring gears) ​[Chorus] CLANK! BANG! THE HAMMER FALLS! Echoing through the iron halls! GREASE AND GOLD! OIL AND STEEL! Pray to the turn of the cog and the wheel! ​[Outro] (The steam hiss returns, slowing down) Keep it oiled... Keep it tight... The machines will run... Through the deepest night. (Sound of a heavy wrench dropping on a stone floor: CLANG) (Bordin mutters: "That'll hold 'til Tuesday.")