They told the judge
I sat before an open fire
Fell right into it
But wasn’t a hair on my head singed.  

They recalled my vision
A prophetess wearing clothes
The color of rotten grasses
She ground sage to a fine powder
They said I put it in their tea
Told them to drink
And be sanctified
Said their throats burned       
Claimed they could not speak.  

The minister said he’d seen many
Slain in the spirit but not me
Said I was different
That he felt directed to sign
As witness.