| Hinkfuss at the Glyptothek
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| Admiring muscles on the neck
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| Of the Barberini Faun
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| Known as the Drunken Satyr
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| Woodland sprite, a goatlike tail
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| Splay-thighed, bug-eyed, very male
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| Pointed ears, a horned head
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| «That's the way!» |
| Hinkfuss said
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| A satyr’s life’s the life for him
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| He’d play the flute and live on gin
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| And facilitate the whims
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| Of Dionysus
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| The brittle whistle of the wind
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| Ithyphallic birds all sing
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| Giggling water at the crystal stream
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| Laps his marble body
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| Pursuing nymphs across mosaics
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| Dryads, Naiads and Nereids
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| Hinkfuss wouldn’t need sex aids
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| The wind is his Levitra
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| The siege of Rome, the Goths attack
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| The mausoleum, Romans grab
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| Hadrian’s statues, which get smashed
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| Serving as projectiles
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| Hinkfuss Satyr wakes, alas
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| Body cracked like shattered glass
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| Right leg damaged, hands stuck fast
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| Parts of his head gone missing
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| These days Hinkfuss is restored
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| Lolls with dildo by the door
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| Of the Glyptothek, don’t stare
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| Be careful what you wish for |