| The Colonial Wing |
| [ music: Robert Buck/lyric: Natalie Merchant ] here is the store house of Her Majesty well guarded by sentry but looks are free call this the rayless 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 compass 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 |