gods of love gods of love American

In the beginning, there was nothing.
No light, no beer, no toilet.
Just an endless void that yawned out of sheer boredom.
Then the two primal brothers appeared—born from the first cosmic fart and the first golden drop.
Jäääänse spoke first:
“I’m gonna take a proper shit now.”
And with a thunder that still echoes in storms to this day, he dropped the first massive pile.
From that pile arose:
The Earth (the solid part).
The mountains (the especially hard clumps).
The continents (which slowly spread out).
And all the volcanoes (the after-effects that still bubble).
The Earth was fertile, brown, and smelled like the beginning.
But it was dark. And dry. And boring.
Then Eppmaster stepped forward, raised his first divine keg, and said:
“Brother, that’s all well and good—but what are we supposed to wash it down with?”
And he let the first golden stream flow.
A mighty, endless pilsner jet, clear and fizzy.
From that stream arose:
The oceans (the bulk of it).
The rivers and lakes (the branches).
The clouds (the rising foam).
And the very first beer (the very last drop that landed in a seashell).
Now there was water. And light broke in the foam—the first sun was born, a giant golden bottle cap in the sky.
But something was still missing. Jäääänse and Eppmaster sat down together (on a fresh pile as a bench), clinked glasses with the first home-brewed pilsner, and thought it over.
Jäääänse farted thoughtfully—and from that fart sprang the first hops plants.
Eppmaster let out a loud burp—and from that burp came the barley fields.
They mixed both with a bit of earth and a bit of pilsner, kneaded it all together, and shaped the first humans.
Not too perfect—a little clumsy, with thirst and needs.
Because that’s the only way it’s fun.
To humanity they gave three great gifts:
The ability to shit (from Jäääänse).
The ability to piss (from Eppmaster).
And the sacred empty bottle (so they’d always have something to float on when things escalate again).
Finally, they created the pub—the center of the universe.
A bar made of oak barrels, stools made of toilet bowls, and a jukebox that only knows one song.
And when everything was finished, the brothers sat down, drank the first beer of creation, and sang the eternal refrain that has echoed in every clink of glasses ever since:
The Great Creation Refrain
(To be bellowed with raised bottle, foam on the beard, and a tear in the eye)
Epp epp epp—jens jens jens—Jääääänsse!
From shit the Earth, from piss the sea!
Epp epp epp—jens jens jens—Jääääänsse!
With piles and pils we made it be!
Epp epp epp—jens jens jens—Jääääänsse!
The fart brought hops, the burp the malt!
Epp epp epp—jens jens jens—Jääääänsse!
And beer was the crown of all the assault!
Epp epp epp—Jääääänsse!
We are your gods, brown and gold,
Epp epp epp—jens jens jens—Jääääänsse!
Drink, shit, and be merry—the universe is saved!

Trance,atmosphärisch