The Art of Patrons (Slow Version)

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