In the halls of the mountain king.
The walls are steeped in blood and sin.
Down in the dark, all is fair.
Unless you step into goblins lair.
The king you see is not so kind.
Quite sure the fellows out of his mind.
A troupe of comrades, sit far and wide.
Across benches made from oaken hide.
Chipping away at bundled fiber.
While sparks fly from cooking fire.
What's for dinner I hear you ask.
Better to just bend to task.
Cause the king you see is not so kind.
Quite sure that fellows out of his mind.
Strip the flesh and flense the bone.
Offer a youngling to the old crone.
In the darkness all is fair.
Just don't get caught in her lair.
Many places to invade.
Uptown funk, get in amongst.
Find a pretty lass, throw some sass.
Downtown bum, nobody will miss you.
Come back to my house.
Step through the crack between the two stones.
Never listen to the mumble of the crone.
Sweep through dust and wayward webs.
Fear not that ax won't take your head.
See the king you met is not so kind.
He brought you back to take his line.
His weft, his weave, his note on the page.
Is it a legacy? I call it a cage.
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