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The Satyrs Olive leaves, ancient spirits, your hoofs danced from Attica to Crete. Playing your flute and dancing with nymphs, dryads, and fauns. Half men, Half beasts but more man than Centaurs. You danced across Elysian fields, for you, Gaea's children, can partake of her harvest. The muses praised your flowing music but Apollo punished you for your inspiration. Still you danced as Aeolus released the east winds. Helios sent down burning rays upon your forehead as you danced at the foot of Mount Olympus or overheard the rants of the Oracle at Delphi. Long after the Titans have been forgotten, you watched the son of Semele become a god of the vine. You danced with Dionysus and his frenzied Maenads. With Pan and Dionysus You played your flute And drank great wine For you are Gaea's Children And can partake of her harvest. You danced as Helots revolted and cities warred. You danced as Persia took Thrace and when Athens battled Sparta. Your hoofs left imprints on the beaches of the Aegean Sea as the Macedonians invaded and as Roman soldiers marched in. Why do you still dance when the Old World is all myths?
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