Here is the store house of Her Majesty
Well guarded by sentry but looks are free
Call this the ray-less and benighted age
Witches by tallow candles shifted
Shifted their shapes
Here is the pestle and mortar
That ground the poison seed
A lute, a suit for jousting
And the poems of a balladeer
When all the Latin books
Were copied off in golden script
Well hoarded away in
A monastery crypt
Superstition
Superstition beyond belief
Over mountain, over dune and over sea
Crude map and compa** lead the caravan
And lead the fleet
Here's the loot and plunder
They bore home
Ivory tusk inlaid with precious stone
Raw silk and spices by the barrel load
A soft skin drum with mallets
Of human bone
A world wide rampage
Rampage of greed
So here the tour concludes
The Colonial Wing
The rooms of the most refined
Museum property
An early pair of spectacles
A claw footed divan
Ornate clocks with birds that strut
On the half hours and quarter hours
Hear them chime