Hymn to Dionysus

Oh wine stained god; patron of theater with thyrsus at ready
You who leads us, conducts us across all those stages so holy
For you, oh! for you is this sung in a meter so steady

For your tragedy, dire events, heroes all while lowly
Those tales showing humanities’ horrors and terrible spirit
For it I sing; ringing my voice out, even and slowly

For your comedy, far worse, all for we think not to fear it
We taste only the saccharine coating that hides an unloved truth
For it I sing; moving however the muses do steer it

For your masks as they cover the face of advanced age and too youth
Those that painfully crack and reveal all the flesh, soft, beneath skin
For them I sing; seeing we cover all ugly and uncouth

Yours in the pact of society, covering all our ill sin
You do free our true way of being thus making us heady
For you I sing; who does reveal all the truth of all we’ve been

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