If reincarnation holds true, I should like to be born
Away from this city, in the high Himalayas
Where the crown of the world shows its thorns
Detached from this body, now spinning, now coming back down
To the grey skies of London, and this Spanish affliction
Cigarettes and a hospital gown

Masters of secrets, and bridges to worlds we can't see
The lodger within me, like pylons sunk deeply
In the mud of an Indian sea
Clear conscience, clairvoyant, not the fraud the world wants me to be
These manifestations, are the wisdom of ages
Unveiled, untethered, set free

You brothers of Luxor, you sisters of Isis come down
There's a shadow that runs from the mountains of Lhasa
to the edges of Old Camden Town
The wind through these canyons is cold, and it scares me to breathe
Like treading the water of an African cape
Or the Mediterranean sea

The lotus is born of the mud, but it rises to greet
The sun and the passing of souls in the aether
If the two of them happen to meet
A thousand years pass, and the lotus will wake once again
Reborn to a world that is also reborn
The same souls in new bodies and skins

But here in these walls, in a house in the woods of St. John
There's a vase, ornate in its making, and full
Of the parts of a soul that is gone
No flying, no falling, no spinning, just an idol at rest
A last manifestation, a new transfiguration
She's reincarnated at last...