Men of Dale, stout and hale,
listen to my laie.
I'll tell the tale of an arrow frail,
And a Dragon what died one day.

T'was over Longlake that all saw the Drake,
a thunderin' shadow of flame!
Burning the towne, burning it down!
Death from a Dragon's mouth came!

Fire! Fire! Fear and Foe!
Men of Dale, dare you go?
Against a Dragon all men hid,
but there was one who never did!

A mighty bowman, known as Bard,
stood on the docks, his grey eyes hard.
The Wurm made three passes and Bard cocked his head,
"There's a chink in yer armour, ol'Lizard!" he said.

Then he drew from his quiver Black Arrow of olde,
his father's owne talisman, trusted and bold.
A grin split his lips as he pulled the string half,
He let out his breath and sighted the shaft.

The Wurm made a low pass, his belly exposed,
a flick of Bard's draw, and Black Arrow rose!
The Dragon knew naught of the silent black dart,
Til Blackarrow bit him, and impaled his black heart.

The fall of that Wurm was fey to see,
He fell on the towne, on the docks, on the lee...
But the sight none forget, so stark and so harrow,
Was the draw of Bard's bow, and the flight of Black Arrow!

1999 m. vonlindern.