I feel horns on my head
When I close my eyes
I feel hooves on my feet
When I make great strides
Molten desire
Will not tire
Convention pyre
His fire
Fullest full, filling lungs
Slow intake of breath
Multi knot nostril wind
No boundary to breadth
No point to retire
His message acquire
Send your wire
Leap to the spire
Growling from loins deep
Boiling of my lust
Body ambrosia, wafting scent
The Beast, growing, must
Your best he require
Look present, not prior
I devote my life entire
My thanks to my Sire,
I’m standing tall
Rudy with his pall
Passion his haul
I’ve heard the call
He lifts me up higher
I’m his Town Crier
To him, I aspire
My Sire,
PAN
Pan's Dance 