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The skies above have darkened

The stars have aligned

We're witness to a rite of black magic design

Master of witches

King of the chaos-sphere

Pastoral god whose altar burns with pagan fear

The Great God Pan

Born behind the stars

The ancients live again

Song of the woodlands

Pan Pipes are crying reeds

His maddened tune will lift the autumn leaves

We see the horned-one

We see his shape assume

The form of laughing wines & sandalwood fumes