Coward's Craft — Hammerhold | Dwarven Power Metal War-Chant

To a dwarf, magic is no power at all — it is a coward's craft. A flinching little trick that hides behind smoke, sputters in the palm, misfires in the rain and turns to bite the very hand that throws it. Steel never lies, and the dwarf's own hands always win in the end. "Coward's Craft" is Hammerhold's stomping war-chant of pure contempt: the clan circling a beaten spell-thrower with grim glee, and a warning that they trust no magic-wielder — even an ally is a knife at your back the moment a finger lifts. Stomp the beat and spit it back. 🎵 Hammerhold — a fictional band of exiled dwarves who carry their lost hold's name down every road. Proud dwarven heavy metal: power/heroic anthems with a folk and shanty edge. 🔔 Subscribe and march with the clan. — Lyrics — He waves his little fingers and he hides behind the smoke, he chokes on his own muttering, his clever spell a joke; he calls it ancient power, but it shivers when we come, it sputters in his palm and dies, the coward's craft undone. He cannot stand and face us, so he flinches and he flees, he throws his pretty fire and prays it lands before we breach; it fizzles in the rain, it turns and bites the hand that fed, we trust the steel that never lies. His spell strikes its master dead. You hide behind your smoke, but the hammer finds you still! We do not fear your craft; it's a coward's, and it's ill! Throw your dying little spark, we will close, and we will laugh, we will break you on the iron, you wretch of the coward's craft! It twists against its maker, it gnaws the fool who throws, it bows to no man living and it breaks where no one knows; he leans his whole life on it and it leaves him in the dark, it guts him in his own clenched fist and gutters to a spark. You'd have me march beside a witch with murder on her breath? I watch the open hand that smiles, I watch it close to death. I'd sooner trust a fraying rope to bear me down the shaft than a sorcerer whose power is the coward's failing craft. You hide behind your smoke, but the hammer finds you still! We do not fear your craft; it's a coward's, and it's ill! Throw your dying little spark, we will close, and we will laugh, we will break you on the iron, you wretch of the coward's craft! Aye, we'll bleed beside the short-lived while the war-horns split the sky, shoulder hard against their shoulder while the honest iron flies; but I mark the open palm of every man that walks our line, and I wait there with a hatred for the moment one turns sly. The instant that a finger lifts, the instant a word goes cold, that ally is a stranger and his throat is mine to hold. A friend who lifts a blade with me, I'll die for at his side — a friend who lifts a spell has chosen which of us has died. So keep your borrowed mutterings, your candle and your chalk, your curses in the cellar gloom; they snuff out when we walk. You've never bled an honest wound, you've never won a fight; you flinch and fling your dying light and pray it buys you flight. We are coming through the smoke, we are coming through the flame, and your power dies behind it like the coward and his name. So throw it all and run, you thing, we have hunted down your kind, and buried braver cowards than the wretch you'll leave behind. You hide behind your smoke, but the hammer finds you still! We do not fear your craft; it's a coward's, and it's ill! Throw your dying little spark, we will close, and we will laugh, we will break you on the iron, you wretch of the coward's craft! Your craft was always cowardice. The hammer always wins. Run. #dwarvenmetal #powermetal #battlemetal #fantasymusic #epicmetal #darkfantasy #Hammerhold