H.I.M. - Borellus Lyrics
Essential Salts of animals mayBe so prepared and preservedThat an ingenious manMay have the whole Ark of Noah in his ownStudy and raise the fine shape of an animalOut of its ashes at his pleasureUnhappy is he to whom the memories of childhoodBring only fear and sadnessOld years of playWretched is he who looks back upon lone hoursIn vast and dismal chambersWith brown hangingsAnd maddening rows of antique booksWatch them in twilight grovesOh in twilight grovesOh in twilight grovesBy method from the essential salts of humane dustA philosopher may call up the shape of any dead ancestorFrom the dust where into his body has beenIncinerated incinerated incineratedYou're under pressure babyChrist has returned he's returningIn every new born childIn every new born childYou're under pressure babyChrist has returned he's returningIn every new born childIn every new born childIn every new born childEssential Salts of animals mayBe so prepared and preservedThat an ingenious manMay have the whole Ark of Noah in his ownStudy and raise the fine shape of an animalOut of its ashes at his pleasureYou're under pressure babyChrist has returned, he's returningIn every new born childIn every new born childYou're under pressure babyChrist has returned, he's returningIn every new born childIn every new born child
