Whispers in the dark, they call to me,
Down the cursed path deep in the ancient trees.
In the still of night, beneath the moon's cold glare,
A scent of death lingers heavy in the air.
Curandero, his eyes are filled with dread,
Binding us with magic, black and dead.
Curandero, his touch is cold as ice,
Casting curses, claiming souls as his price.
Ancient spells fall from his lips like doom,
The devil’s breath lingers in his gloom.