Black faces in the dark, covered in ash of past sacrifice,
and Dionysos is seated at the heart of them,
come the long way through the swamp to be with them,
carrying a torch to set the world ablaze with revolt,
holding the noose the rulers used to lynch their sisters and brothers,
in case such tragic injustice should ever be forgot.
Clash of timbrels and thunder crashing over head,
Liber roars and drives his people to frenzy
in orgiastic dances that dissolve and unite and circle back again,
verses of prophecy against the iron empire rising up from
everyone’s lips and visions of the better world that could be.
Storm’s coming; oh baby, don’t you see? It’s here already.
Millions feel the winds of change sweeping through the land,
and it’s going to get a lot worse before ever it gets better.
Take up your thyrsos, and wield it proudly;
Titans hid fire in it, the fire which burns away all lies.
Everything built on a corrupt edifice will crumble;
rebuild with what remains.
