FUCKED UP LYRICS

"The Art Of Patrons"

"Eurycles, I am broken," the disciples smiles in disgust. The Satyrs have awoken and things aren't here to be discussed. We traded the privilege for scraps, exchanged for the clothes on our backs. Lived life like there was no other way. What was sacrosanct now the sacred is profane. We yearn for the thanks but deserve all the blame. A simple piece of stagecraft, a tawdry parlour trick. We traded our moral high ground so they would sing along. But is it so bad?Is it as dark as it seems? To trade a little purity to prolong the dream? One by one we will find a way to let each and every one down. It's the privilege of mass delusion. Sit back and have a seat. Dazzled by the greed. It's his voice through my lips. It's the miracle of Gastromancy. They are spinning in their graves. At the choices we have made. But in our shoes would they have been chaste?

Thanks to zonerunner for these lyrics

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