top of page

Rushles von Egglesmaff

Rushles von Egglesmaff, mad goblin king

Has an odd story of odd happ-nings.

Was a normal guy once upon a time,

But that was long ago, before he lost his mind!

“Rushles von what?” Rushles von Egglesmaff!

“Egglesmaff who?” Mad king Egglesmaff!

“What did he say?” Lots of things you wouldn’t get.

“What did he do?” Many more you won’t forget! (Hehhehehehe…)



Von Egglemsaff, Rushles von Egg,

Tell us what have you been up to?

Rushles von Egg, von Egglesmaff,

— Tell us of the viddles you tropped at Mizzlemouch!


Fret not! This tragic story is rather short,

Four weeks’ span after his head got warped.

He had a bad day, got pushed to the brink

To the edge of a place where the wise can’t think.

Where songs turned sour and words were weak,

Where his guts turned gloppy and dogs turned to dweeks!

(Reality tweaked to tar-filled rivers, leaked 

(sanity’s end to the final roots speaking of the third door,

(an orchestra of voices seeping from within, playing him for a fool)

 … but I digress.



— Tell us of the time you Horped a priggy tau!


I found him one day sitting by a tree,

Shaving his cat, ignoring its screams.

He had a look in his eye, a curious gleam

Driven by an engine only he could conceive.

“Get to the root,” he said, “beneath the flesh.

“Cut away the gentle and useless weakness.

“His hunger, it beckons; it I must feed,

“Endless is its torment, he’s consuming my dreams!”


— Tell us of the time you freaked out everyone.

Many tried to talk to him but he couldn’t hear,

Lost in his madness, a maelstrom of fear.

He said an old voice came and spoke to him,

Something about a story for the eager and grim.

It was a gift for the mad and the mad in craft,

What did it matter if others thought he was daft?

It granted a boon! Or was it a spoon?

Hard to tell a difference when you’re high as the moon!


On the day of his death he came to the tree,

Talking to something no one else could see.

He had tears in his eyes and red on his hands,

Rueful of the cruelty of his god’s demands.

Body carved from daughters’ bones, and guts for strings,

The perfect instrument laid there at his knees.

It cost him his family, his cat and his home,

But who else to share it with? Just him, all alone.


Rushles von Egg, von Egglesmaff,

Your instrument now sings your story!

Free from the noise and dead by your toys,

Such is the tale of the mad goblin king!

bottom of page