Wine, wealth showered upon him.
A festive cornucopia, the covet to malicious hearts.

Where did it go? Where all the thunder goes?
The dances, the trumpets, the endless nights,
Hiding the bombs covered in shadow of laughs.

Ode to the chaos Dionysus made,
a bless to thee dancing fairies,
an assault to man on the throne.

Grapes do save them, Dionysus.
But,
To whom thou would save thine.