The white man stole their land
now the red man has the blues
the white man sold their families
and the black man's still ill-used
the white man shot the American buffalo
now the red man sings the blues
the white man put their people in chains
and the black man's grief accrues
the white house is to blame
the Government just the same
the white man broke the treaties
now the red man feels the blues
the white man did the dirty
and the black man he's abused
the white man has no conscience
but the red man has the blues
no the white man does not care
tho' the black man's overdue
the white house is to blame
the Government it is too
The white man stole their land
now the red man has the blues
the white man sold their families
and the black man's still ill-used
the white man shot the American buffalo
now the red man sings the blues
the white man put their people in chains
and the black man's grief accrues
the white house is to blame
the Government just the same
the white man broke the treaty
now the red man feels the blues
the white man did the dirty
and the black man he's abused
the white man has no conscience
but the red man has the blues
no the white man does not care
tho' the black man's overdue
the white house is to blame
the Government it is too
Where have all the bison gone
shot by Sharps shooters nearly every one
where have all the shooters gone
done away by Indians more than some
the red man revered the buffalo
of Manitou's abundance living proof
to the white who sent them
to the not-so-happy-hunting grounds
a gold mine on the hoof
the paleface ways in olden days long gone
were somewhat less than perfect
and should be frowned upon
to soldiers bison were target practice
indigenous people to quell
while hunters killed for the hides
by 1884 the Black Hills buffalo death knell
lies were spoken treaties broken
but revenge was none too soon at hand
Sioux Cheyenne Arapaho attacked
and briefly turned the tide
on what was their rightful land
beside the Little Bighorn
one frightful day at Custer's last stand
Written February 22, 2017
Motivation keeps us dream chasing
Those thoughts that you hold dear to your heart
Until the world falls apart from me missing you
These thoughts of you keep me holding onto
This abstract feeling called love
Now paint a pointillist on a rawhide canvas
On a Native American buffalo drum
But I digress to keep the beat going along
Keep it flowing to waterfalls where angels sing
A song to the siren, listen to her lull you to your last breath
So you thought this was an abstraction of love, not death
But you thought wrong 'cause they're one in the same
It's the name of game when the carousel goes round
Watch it go round, round, and round
A radial diametric where the angles bisect
To prototypes and concepts
From the concave to convex
Do you do it for the money and sex
Or for the only dreamers that we've got left
Yeah you know you've gotta give to receive
This abstract feeling called love
My history beckons like the Prairies
Dry towns. Cute and fierce,
Fearless and enslavement,
As the likeness on the Platte,
The Powder, the Niobrara,
the Tongue, the Snake,
The Yellowstone, who, as an American buffalo,
Strange moonlight, explode
With gigantic waves!
My history beckons like a halfway
Body of Missouri River and the Rockies,
Like the Paha-Sapa, the Black Hills of Sioux!
The delighted night of long dance and tales!
My history beckons, oh powerless!
As the magic, mightily sport beyond
The thunderbird
Of the clean range of souls and heats
As the unimaginable size of American bison!
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