Secret Culture - Accessory

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