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Hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt, born at the close,
defeat your only destiny.
Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain, sometimes the strong
are chosen to fight the hopeless wars.

You began to lose before you rose;
they who called you Joseph
sought the land which held your father's body,
but you would not sell the bones of your father and mother.

Chief Joseph, they followed you a thousand miles.
You left your home,
but they would not let you go.
You fought with the frantic fury of the bush fire.

Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain, they caught you
but forty miles from your goal.
Your people broken, slaughtered, scattered.
Count the children, O Chief Joseph.

Hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt, they would not kill you.
The heart beats, the spirit dead.
The strong man born to bitter end.
"From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever."

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