Oh, deep below the mountain where the torches never fade, Lies a labyrinth of nonsense built by Halaster the Mad Mage. The doors all open sideways, the stairs lead upside‑down, And every time you blink, you end up in a different town. So raise your mugs and sing aloud, For chaos is the rage. There’s no place quite as troublesome As the Dungeon of the Mad Mage. Your boots will squeak, your sword will shriek, Your map will misbehave— It’s a naughty little nightmare in the Dungeon of the Mad Mage. A goblin tried to scare me with a roar both fierce and grim, But halfway through the bellow he forgot it came from him. A mimic tried to bite me but it slipped upon the floor, Apologized politely, then became a chest once more. So raise your mugs and sing aloud, For chaos is the rage. There’s no place quite as troublesome As the Dungeon of the Mad Mage. Your boots will squeak, your sword will shriek, Your map will misbehave— It’s a naughty little nightmare in the Dungeon of the Mad Mage. A troll was feeling grumpy, so I offered him a snack— He took the snack, the plate, the fork, and half my travel pack. A banshee tried to haunt me with a wail of dread and doom, But cracked her voice mid‑howl and asked for tea to soothe the gloom. Oh, traps that trip themselves, And spells that go astray— A fireball that sneezed itself And rolled the other way. The mage who built this madhouse Must’ve laughed with every page, For nothing here behaves itself In the Dungeon of the Mage. So raise your mugs and sing aloud, Let chaos take the stage. For mischief rules and trouble drools In the Dungeon of the Mad Mage. Your boots will squeak, your sword will shriek, Your map will misbehave— But you’ll return, you scamp, you rogue— You love that cursed cave.
