Perhaps you think the Creator sent you here to dispose of us as you see fit
|
If I thought you were sent by the creator
|
I might be induced to think you had a right to dispose of me
|
Do not misunderstand me
|
But understand me fully with reference to my affection for the land
|
I never said the land was mine to do with as I choose
|
The one who has a right to dispose of it is the one who has created it
|
|
I claim a right to live on my land
|
And accord you the privilege to return to yours
|
Brother we have listened to your talk
|
Coming from our father the great White Chief at Washington
|
And my people have called upon me to reply to you
|
And in the winds which pass through these aged pines
|
We hear the moanings of their departed ghosts
|
|
And if the voice of our people could have been heard
|
That act would never have been done
|
But alas though they stood around they could neither be seen or heard
|
Their tears fell like drops of rain
|
I hear my voice in the depths of the forest
|
But no answering voice comes back to me
|
All is silent around me
|
My words must therefore be few
|
I can now say no more
|
|
He is silent for he has nothing to answer when the sun goes down
|
|
-----------------
|
Words of Fire, Deeds of Blood
|
The Band |