Quietly, all she can do is wait, sit and wait.
The tribe has gathered, the elders will consider and decide.
The drums pull her into the familiar past, almost mindlessly, she knows how seductive
the sound will be when the shaman goes into his trance.
Deepa, Deepa, are the ancient rhythms.
Deepa, Deepa, are the ancient rhythms.
Deepa, Deepa, are the ancient rhythms.
Closed as she becomes a part of the ritual.
For a brief moment she's terrified.
Thinking nothing will change the outcome, change the outcome, change the outcome, change the outcome.
She rises from a seat when he enters and turns her head.
Then she looks at him openly.
Clear and calm, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows.
She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows.
She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows.
She knows, she knows, she knows.
