The grass sways in the wind
My love for the golden sea of the Great Plains
The sweetness of the breeze
As I stand where my ancestors stood before me
My feet kick up the dirt as I run with my brothers and sisters
The breath of the Holy Creator lifts our breasts
And calms our souls
The buffalo move and so must we too
The horse that is mine is marked with my hand
The freedom makes me shout out my native cry
The pride in my people brings me joy
The river's fish granted to us by the Creator
As is the buffalo too
Hunt in the day, dance in the night
For a future of freedom and warmth of this prosperous tribe
I am an Indian boy but soon I will become a man
And when the white men come to take my sisters
I will become a warrior
to fight, bleed, and die with my brothers
for this is MY land, MY freedom, MY family, and MY home
Why must the white people not understand?
Why must think only of land and paper dollars,
When my brothers are dying,
And my sisters are crying?
Why must they take what has been ours for generations?
The Creator has granted us this land since the beginning of time
Why must our blood decorate the earth,
that is our Mother?
Why must our last breath be taken looking at the sky
to the sun, our Father?
Why must our pain and tears fertile the land?
And yet...I am a savage??
I fight for my land, my people, and my freedom
I fight for the warmth and sweetness of life
Yet...I'm a monster??
Why are we trapped on reservations?
Land unwanted by all
We scream and cry no more
For years of tears have wielded nothing
Our voices silenced, cut from our throats
My people has been suffering since the Mayflower
But no one listens, sees or cares
We were put out of sight out of mind
My people continue to sing for better days,
For the past
When Mexicans were Natives,
When blacks were strangers,
When whites were non-existant
My people are dying to this day
From the poisons of the white men
Alcohol, tabacco, drugs
We are forgotton
Only a single page in history books
That spew lies of our bloodlust
We are viewed as nothing
Not a story on the news
Tells of our suffering journey
Of the life on reservations,
Home away from home,
Used to break our spirit, faith and culture
But we are NATIVE AMERICANS
So like the bravest of warriors
Like our ancestors
We will sing, dance and fight
For better days