The Wisdom of the Ancients
The drums beat,
The rattles call,
The flames of fire grow tall.
Tis wisdom of the ancients
We do call. The Dance and Sacred Song
Grow to a fevered pitch.
Flames lick the night sky,
Hauntingly painted faces go by,
Sweat rolls down upon the desert ground.
Mystical answers are sought
From the stars which fill
The vastness of the dark sky.
What shall our path be
Oh, Spirit Guide?
To live in a world
Which only wishes us to die?
Our ways shall come back--
A terrible vengeance
Upon you shall be laid.
For now we wait,
Our Spirits in dormancy lie
Till the Ancient ones awaken
And hearken to our CRY!
