The scents of droppings and rotting mice
rise stinking from under the castle floors.
I ruffle my feathers, turn my head around twice
to watch the louts peer round the edges of doors

They watch me, they serve me, I still am their king
King of droppings and rotting mice.
King of the goblins -- of everything.
Ha. I ruffle my feathers, turn my head around twice.

Thirteen years til the curse passes from me;
watching them watch me -- playing the king.
Did you have to destroy me, just to feel free
of me and the goblins and everything?

My minions scratch at themselves and leer.
There are thirteen years more til this passes from me
so they watch me, but none dares to come too near.
Did you have to do this to me, just to feel free?