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.