(Scene: The steampunk city of New Albion. Our Narrator appears to take us on a guided tour. The music is a tango with some industrial elements lightly in the background)
NARRATOR: 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 ¬¬Gd 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
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.