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My Pa said he thought it best
When we joined the wagon train heading west
He said the land is being given away
We could make a home there and forever stay.

	I am the son of a tribal chief
	Born to lead others was his belief
	Our homes the white man kept taking from us
	Our faith in the spirits we put our trust.

We heard the cries of their warring call
And circled the wagons before the fall
We were outnumbered ten to one
And prayed to God as they did come.

	Their sticks of fire echoed through the land
	Reaching much farther than our arrows can
	Horses and braves had their spirits rubbed out
	But we would prevail I had no doubt.

I saw the arrow pierce through my Pa
	I saw many braves starting to fall
Women and children were dying too
	We had to stop these white men from passing through
We started to fight hand to hand
	We couldn’t give up any more of our land
With death all around me the last man I stood
	The Great Spirit protected me, as I knew he would.

The dust settled down and I stood face to face
With the last savage Indian standing in this place
His face was painted bright yellow and red
Everyone around us was already dead.

        I looked the white beast straight in the eye
        And noticed that he was no older than I
	I was the last of my party alive
	He was the last white man to survive.

He lowered his war club and looked all around
	His stick of fire made no more sound
Then on his horse once more he got bound
	I rode back home to my sacred ground.



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