In a world of threads, joys, and dreads
we may be tattered clowns.
The bounty of branches and brambles and bones
encircle our heads like crowns.
Anointing our sisters, while well suited misters keep
tangling tongues with the fire-
We’ve no time to fear
for there’s magic in tears
true beauty never truly grows tired.
So, hanging our feather’s atop of our caps
We’ve embarked on a journey so sweet
that you’ll feel the ground rumble
as the paradigm crumbles
into patterns of light at your feet.
We entreat you, good fellows,
With whispers that bellow
through caverns of questions so deep
To join our sure cause.
Join the music that calls
to the dreamers no longer asleep.
We are armed with sure arrows
We stand braving the perils
In our boots and camisoles.
We are bonded to mystery,
To reclaiming our history,
We are the Shamanic Dolls.