(Edgar, brokenhearted, mopes around his family manor. He finds himself rummaging through an old suitcase in the attic.)

[Narrator]
The old trunk in the attic
Where grandmother's broken heart was tossed
In a box with a ballet shoe
And dead soldiers cross

The old trunk in the attic
With the candlesticks your great uncle saved
From the girl in the market
Whose mother he once paid to go away

The old trunk in the attic
With a dress for a child but hardly worn
Stained in the memory and tears
For a name you’ll never learn

The old trunk in the attic
Where your grandfathers glass eye lays to rest
Your sweet aunt's nostalgia
And Annabella's formula for raising up the dead
Annabella’s formula for raising up the dead

Clever mother Annabella with her clever head, oh
Annabella's formula for raising up the dead