When Bacchus weeps his song of joy
and conducts us into his realm
thou won't feel pain, nor grief, oh boy
when wisdom's patterns overwhelm
He cuts his veins for us all night
A lovely comforter, his blood
Oh Bacchus, save our love and light
In times of vintage, the red flood
Drift, drift, drifting away
The cosmic semen will lead you, my dear
Drift, drift, drifting away
For you the vineyards cry a golden tear
When Bacchus weeps his song of sleep
We yearn to dwell on a distant star
At white walls splendid paintings creep
Reflections of ourselves they are
This state of mind, divine it seems
Our clarity becomes the prey
Estrangement from thy common dreams
when sorrows slowly drift away...
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