Wilder than an Apache warrior
with buffalo horns on his head
in the inner sanctum
of the Dakotas
where the shamen commune
with the spirits of the dead

Where the eagle glides and soars
chanting incantations
where the red river flows and roars
riding painted ponys
into long forgotten canyons
scattering sun bleached bones
amongst faded cavalry clothes
on the Cheyennes sacred floor

The dull beat of war drums
stirs up clouds of dancing dust
where the skeletons of pioneer wagons
silently corrode and rust
where the song of the Apache
cries entranced and doomed
where no more the arrows fly
across the blood drained moon

Where Custer drove his troops
across the big horn river
where the ghosts of bronzed braves
are doomed to haunt forever
elder John was scalped and mutilated
granny Parker was speared and left for dead
and the displaced warriors
wore the trophys on their heads

Where the buckskin shirts and repeating rifles ruled
across the Texan territory
from Clear Fork reservation
to the gulf of Mexico
the Pawnee ran here and there
with nowhere else to go
following the billowing dust clouds
of the migrating buffalo

When Crazy Horse was cornered
and Laramie made that fateful stand
when Sitting Bull was forced to surrender
and the tomahawk was taken from his hand
when Sheridan cleansed the northern territory
with his murderous roving band
because the redman cast a shadow
over the newly taken government land

When the night draws dark across the mesa
you can hear the indian cry
and the coyote howls at the rising moon
in deference to a way of life
that has sadly had to die.