Lissard sings to Lord Fear, adoringly.

You could have an army.

Many thousands do your whim.

You could have a serving maid, buxom.

Slave-girls shapely and trim.

All you'd do is tell them,

They'd do anything you say.

You could have a big castle,

Golden towers with

A moat of cream.

You could have a crown,

A land, a kingdom.

But you'll be lonely without me.

I wanna be...

Your pet puppy!

Why won't you pat my head?

Oh... let me be your pet puppy.

That would make me so happy!

Show me all your riches,

And they will mean nothing to me!

Open up your heart to me

There you'll find what love can be.

I wanna be...

Your pet puppy!

Why won't you pat my head?

Oh... let me be your pet puppy.

Let me nuzzle at your breast!

I'm gonna be...

Your pet puppy!

This could be my utopia...

Oh... I'm your pet puppy...

Give me a bowl of Winalot! *

(* Or indeed any other brand of meat and wheat-based pet food mixture  -  footnote for the lawyers.)