How divine, a deity that sees off myths of death
Keeps greed and vast confession, a veil beneath his breath
A mystic of the universe, a master of your dreams
A coarse and rural empathy that's bursting at the seems
A horse would gallop through the wind, with birds with wings of glass
To venture out their driven need to seek sacred morass
Calls from nymphs in revelry, reverberate the ear
His forest's vast creation made to lure some Bona Dea
While darkness wraps the woodlands light and sets free fireflies
The Faun's nightly concoction, of lutes and wine and lies
Will lure a vessel virgin to a drugged, submissive state
Putting out her blaze of glory, always to interrelate
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