Several hundred years before, a gambler and a monk embarked
On a long trek through the endless prairies of the North;
They had a fierce debate about God and chance and fate,
And to resolve it agreed a game of cards indeed be played.
The game went on all day, and through the next and next they played,
And around them a shelter was built to shield the rain,
A street around the shelter formed, then a church, a house, a bar,
And that is how the city of New Albion was born.
That is how the city of New Albion was born.
New Albion today, With bustling streets, machines, cafes
And the nice, the wise, the eccentric and insane
The Mafia?s run by a red haired dwarf with just one eye
Whose affairs he decides with a pair of silver dice
Over the Zeppelin Union Pilots, a castrati boss presides
And we hear his song each afternoon as he flies by
There?s prisons made of lead, and gargoyles of iron shreds
And Annabelle McAlistair who?s raising up the dead
Annabelle McAlistair who?s raising up the dead
The Lodge on Ashland Street is where the Alchemists Guild meets
And to join you have to craft a glass pearl from a young girl?s dream
A group of thieves they heard, broke in the lodge to steal the pearls
But in the morning they were found there sitting staring unperturbed
The twilight fog they say, an aphrodisiac contains
Nonsense, but yet they copulate in doorways anyway
There?s inventors and inbred in upper class it?s been said
And Annabelle McAlistair who?s raising up the dead.
Annabelle McAlistair who?s raising up the dead.
Clever little Annabella with her clever head.
Oh, Annabelle McAlistair who?s raising up the dead.