Style: electronic something or other.
Music: Michael W. Dean. Words: Phil Wormuth.
Photo above is Phil’s recording studio.
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The Last Shaman
Dried moss from the crotch of a dead birch tree,
plug o’ tobacco,
buffalo nickel (heads-up for luck),
crushed bones of a small rodent,
fresh pheasant flesh…
Bring to a boil and yes, I can tell your future.
(Wind, sand, and stone speak too slow.)
My words make birds fall from the sky.
I look for meaning in the smallest of things.
My dreams reveal ancient secrets –
the force behind my visions is fierce
(unless obscured by wind, sand, and stone.)
But when I grow too bold,
the sun squares off in the sky –
it instantly sears my eyes…
(wind, sand, and stone
rain down upon me
and force me to question my abilities.)
…and then who am I?