For Man was Made in the Image of God
Old Zeus loved to dress as a bull,
While Loki dragged-up as a mare –
Pan would never be short of wool,
And Bast had a head for feline flair.
Such tales from the priests and wassailers,
Of shape-shifting changers
Who scared dairymaids –
For the Devil had all the best tailors,
And demons were angels
Who loved masquerades.
It used to be said that only the gods
Could metamorphosise –
But humans watched, and wanted-in,
To shed their skin
For a cunning disguise.
And so came Hollywood,
Wigs and prosthetics,
And cosmetics enough to make Jezebel blush.
Till even the fay never had it so good,
And the witches spurned wands for our pencil and brush.
So we’re gloriously gothic and archly absurd,
We’re casting a glamour
To stammer the Word.
And whether we’re devil or psycho or clown,
We raise-up the dead for a night on the town.
And the gods all smile at how far we’ve run,
As they don a new style to join in the fun.
For all they may claim that religious festivals of the dead are deeply serious and purely about honouring souls and lost relatives, or about warding-off dangerous evil spirits, never underestimate the subconscious human desire to dress-up and have a party.