Borellus

HIM

Essential Salts of animals may 
Be so prepared and preserved 
That an ingenious man 
May have the whole Ark of Noah in his own 
Study and raise the fine shape of an animal 
Out of it's ashes at his pleasure 

Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood 
Bring only fear and sadness 
Old years of play 
Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours 
In vast and dismal chambers 
With brown hangings 
And maddening rows of antique books 

Watch them in twilight groves 
Oh in twilight groves 
Oh in twilight groves 

By method from the essential salts of humane dust 
A philosopher may call up the shape of any dead ancestor 
From the dust where into his body has been 
Incinerated incinerated incinerated 

You're under pressure baby 
Christ has returned he's returning 
In every new born child 
In every new born child 

You're under pressure baby 
Christ has returned he's returning 
In every new born child 
In every new born child 
In every new born child 

Essential Salts of animals may 
Be so prepared and preserved 
That an ingenious man 
May have the whole Ark of Noah in his own 
Study and raise the fine shape of an animal 
Out of it's ashes at his pleasure 

You're under pressure baby 
Christ has returned, he's returning 
In every new born child 
In every new born child 

You're under pressure baby 
Christ has returned, he's returning 
In every new born child 
In every new born child