It was many and many a year ago,
On an island in the sea,
That a scholar named Johnny Dee did seek
A language so heavenly.

While traveling Central Europe free—
Johnny Dee and Ed Kelley and black mirror key,
Wrought by angels’ hands, not for the meek,
A script that evoked divine glee.

And this was the reason that, long, long ago,
On that island in the sea,
The airs grew cold by some degrees
As the angels spoke to Johnny Dee.

He learned the language, dense, arcane,
Of Enochian tables, destiny gained,
And inscribed each letter upon earthy plane,
He and old Sir Edward Kelley.

And love for hidden wisdom by far did grow,
Stronger than fears of what it did show
Of mysteries far wiser than he—
And neither did library ruined by foes,
Nor the shadows deep under cold, salty sea,
Ever dissever the angels from speaking
Through the mystical tablets of Johnny Dee.

For the moon can not beam, without bringing me dreams
Of the tablets of Johnny Dee;
And the stars can not rise for these tightly-shut eyes
Until the angels respond back to me;
And so, every night-tide, I lie down to recite
These forty-eight keys, my life and my guide,
Zirdo! Zirdo! by this boundless sea—
Ipamis! Ipamis! by this pounding sea.