Gloomy lights of sacred nights,
Odour of Incense and candle flames,
Fills the air with voodoo gods.
Dance of the very ancient,
Language of the souls,
Brings into the world the spirits,
Back from the abyss.
Out of the flames,
returns the fallen.
He feeds on us,
to bless his sons.
Men and women dance alike,
To the rhythm of curses,
To which they are paralysed.
The Shaman sheds blood,
For the summoned one,
To delight his return,
For a thousand years.
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