The Art Of Patrons - Fucked Up

«Eurycles, I am broken»

The disciple 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 ground so they could 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 between 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 all have been so chaste?