Further Debauchery of Pan

The music of reed pipes fill the air
Calling to those so fair.
Nymphs play naked in the springs
Promising young men a quick fling.

But beware the sirens song
It sounds so right, but is so wrong.
With sweet fucking comes doom
The mist around improves the gloom.

But when Pan brings debauchery
Musical moaning feels the trees.
Come hither and don’t be callous
And drink the nectar from Pan’s phallus.

Hear the notes and read the glyphs
To find yourself inside a nymph.
In the river or under the falls,
All cum to Great God Pan’s call.