(The key to joy is disobedience    There is no guilt and there is no shame)       A moon-piece to fetch up the golden cup    A snow-piece to avoid the great heat of the sun    Is kept in the night and by the light of the moon       An ice-piece so as they seem forever fallen    A night-piece of the dismal supper and strange entertainment    A rare chance-piece, a handsome piece of deformity    The skin of a snake bred out of the spinal marrow of a man       With stones and illegible inscriptions found about great ruins    Pictures of three remarkable steeples, or towers    Built purposely awry, so as they seem eternally tipping and falling       A transcendent perfume made of the richest odorates    Kept in a box of translucent scale       A glass of spirits made of ethereal salt, hermetically sealed up    Kept continually in quicksilver, of so volatile a nature    That it will scarcely endure the light    And therefore only shown in winter    Or by the light of a carbuncle, or a firefly       And batwings    And batwings    And batwings sing this limnal hymn    A wideness opening and closing to keep the darkness sealed within    To keep the darkness sealed within    To keep the darkness sealed within       To keep the darkness sealed within    A moon-piece to fetch up the golden cup       [The singing that follows is not in English. When this song was played at John Balance's funeral service, Peter Christopherson described it as "a language that only he knows".]