Текст (слова) песни: H.I.M. (His Infernal Majesty) - Borellus
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 its 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 its 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
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