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Wounded Knee

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Bury me at Wounded Knee.
Between the weeping willow tree.
Where the shore berates the see.
For striking it so mercilessly.
The salty air will set me free.
Upon the hill the birds will sing.
The ships will sail, the buoys ring.
Who say such a peaceful the thing,
The scene at Wounded Knee?
So when you lay me down to rest.
Dry your eye, do no protest.
I can’t weep for you so don’t for me.
Hand in hand, together again.
Are we at Wounded Knee.

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