Shaman - Baba Brinkman

In the rainforest, I can hear a strange chorus

Of frogs and crickets playing for us;

my brain is porridge

As the medicine man prays to the source

Holding my head in his hands;

my presence vanishes

Into the depths of this trance;

images dance

And spin as he chants and shakes a bundle of plants

His lungs expand and flows of cigarette smoke

Exit his throat, the rumble in his chest grows

In the background, the jungle silhouettes glow

Then all at once he lets go;

my head is sweat-soaked

I’m a humble guest, though, with no question marks

I think I just lost control of my wits in this pitch dark

A matchstick sparks;

as the blackness splits apart

The medicine man sits with a candlestick

Held in his hands lit;

the flame’s dance enchants it

Then he hands it to me and stands, and that’s it