I had to assume she’d seen
Visions the deepest of mind couldn’t dream.
I had to believe she’d been shown
Truth the most worthy of heart wouldn’t know.
And for her shame to be told,
A curse to be lathered in gold.
The syllables sacred and special,
A secret so sweet, born in a temple, so cold.
The shaman’s daughter came for me,
And left with me her malady.
No pound of flesh had I to give,
No earthly wealth to offer;
She settled for a simple soul, and a hand to hold.
Yes, I left with the shaman’s daughter.