آهنگ: Decemberists. Picaresque. Infanta.

Here she comes in her palanquin
On the back of an elephant
On a bed made of linen and sequins and silk

All astride on her father's line
With the king and his concubines
And her nurse with her pitchers of liquors and milk

And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta

Among five score pachyderm
Each canopied and passengered
Sit the Duke and the Duchess' luscious young girls

Within sight of the baroness
Seething spite for this live largesse
By her side sits the baron, her barrenness barbs her

And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta

A phalanx on camel back
Thirty ranks on a forward tack
Followed close, their shiny bright standards waving

While behind in their coach in fours
Ride the wives of the king of moors
And the veiled young virgin, the prince's betrothed

And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta

And as she sits upon her place
Her innocence laid on her face
From all atop the parapets blow a multitude of coronets

Melodies rhapsodical and fair
And all our hearts afire, the sky ablaze with cannon fire
We all raise our voices to the air, to the air

And above all this falderal
On a bed made of chaparral
She is laid, a coronal placed on her brow

And the babe, all in slumber dreams
Of a place filled with quiet streams
And the lake where her cradle was pulled from the water

And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta
And we'll all come praise the infanta