Secret Culture

The harvest of fortune is near
No choice, no voice — to describe
These signs are simply and clear
For the destiny of my tribe
I have seen some clouds of dust
Coloured in blanket grey
I’ve seen the unexpected trust
in my possible delay
I’m a merchant with souls
I deal with their faith
Their response is my goal
This calling makes my grace
I’m the medicine man
I’m the medicine man
Their confidence was never more
Than in this confused times
They would be disappointed in me
If I don’t save them from decline
I took some boundaries of time
The wheel runs on high speed
I’m the fighter against the crime
My decision is to lead
I’m a merchant with souls
I deal with their faith
Their response is my goal
This calling makes my grace
I’m the medicine man
I’m the medicine man