The Satyrinae, the satyrines or satyrids, commonly known as the browns, are a subfamily of the Nymphalidae (brush-footed butterflies). They were formerly considered a distinct family, Satyridae. This group contains nearly half of the known diversity of brush-footed butterflies. The true number of the Satyrinae species is estimated to exceed 2400.
They are generally weak fliers and often shun bright sunlight, preferring moist and semishaded habitats. The caterpillars feed chiefly on monocotyledonous plants such as palms, grasses, and bamboos. The Morphinae are sometimes united with this group.
The taxonomy and systematics of the subfamily are under heavy revision. Much of the early pioneering work of L. D. Miller has helped significantly by creating some sort of order. Dyndirus (Capronnier, 1874) is a satyrid incertae sedis. Other than this genus, according to the latest studies on the classification of Nymphalidae, all satyrines have been assigned to one of the tribes, at least preliminarily. For detailed lists, see the tribe pages.
Comin' in easy on the sea train.
Walkin' out under the fog again,
And the sky don't explain
If I'm up or across or down, town around just like then.
The neon screen will never know when.
Be quiet or dream,
And just not crowd the scenes
Of my mind's sound.
I'm goin' under and comin' on out
To see you again.
My mind's been wanderin', but I'm about
To meet you again.
The rhythm of hearts plays in my veins
Like some long-gone lonesome sea train.
I'm only sure that the weather would break if I did.
They'll come easy, then go glad.
Your child at the window says the rain don't look sad,
And you ask me who's mad
As you show me your lost and found.
Down, you're bound again.
With your fan, my fire turns to wind
Your glass fills mine with sand,
You shout, "I'm not your land!"
And I hear the ground.
I'm a weeping shadows, feeling like a willow
Bearing Martha's flower; as the sun comes, I come.
Far across the street, clear across the stream,
The sun shall come.
If you're in a tree and the forest falls, who hears you?
[musical interlude]
And the hills meet the wind, making dew.
We see us again.
As the sun behind clouds, breaking through,
We're gonna meet them again.
The rhythm of hearts plays through my veins
Like some long-gone lonesome sea train.
Rain in the meadow beats the river to the ocean.