(Chorus)
Some days you tread the grass tipping the toe in awe.
Some days you draw the sword, some nights you spit at the stars.
We serve a God of grief and pleasure. We swim in passion and tears.
Fasting fills our minutes but feasting fills our years.

We re no sons of prohibition, no daughters of frozen beds.
Pan and the nymph s weak shadows of the fires joined and wed.
Seems you misunderstand me, not ice but blood in our guts.
We re sober cause we re waiting for our Lord to drink with us.

Been told we re rules and repression, weak in minds and taste,
But only the one who has mastered desire ever has ridden its strength.
I will not sit your silly perch, I got both wings on me.
Judging from your paintin of us I don t think you can see.

A joy that outdances the pagans. A taste for moon and sun.
Great board of wine and laughter when the watch of the night is done.
Sing of some pale Galilean, greying the world with his breath.
This wrath is not my master; in fact we ve never met.