When Bacchus weeps his song of joy and conducts us into his realm thou won't feel pain, nor grief, oh boy when wisdom's patterns overwhelm He cuts his veins for us all night A lovely comforter, his blood Oh Bacchus, save our love and light In times of vintage, the red flood Drift, drift, drifting away The cosmic semen will lead you, my dear Drift, drift, drifting away For you the vineyards cry a golden tear When Bacchus weeps his song of sleep We yearn to dwell on a distant star At white walls splendid paintings creep Reflections of ourselves they are This state of mind, divine it seems Our clarity becomes the prey Estrangement from thy common dreams when sorrows slowly drift away...