Best Native Americanold Poems
Satan over the years has been known for tricks and deception
Not only covering up what he is doing, but what he has done
One has to give him credit as he is very successful, but beware
He and his people are always looking for a new invention
And he is one tricky old son of a gun
Very private about where they worship if you can call it that, don't want you there
In the old desert around El Paso, Texas, can be very a dangerous place
The scorpions and rattlesnakes are tame compared to Satan
The Mexican border, Drug smuggling and devil worship are on a rampage
With the rotten and evil, he will show his face
Again they will try to cover it up if they can
But when discovered, they are filled with rage
Native Americans have used "the Sweat Lodge" for hundred's of centuries
In the religious rites to cleanse a spirit or a soul
Their way of getting closer to God, sometimes they use peyote
Now Satan's people have stolen the idea, it is uses varies
Where they think in drug altered minds that they are in control
And once again old Satan is the coyote
At their rituals it looks like a white plastic covered igloo
In the middle of tall mesquite bushes near a bonfire
In a large fire pit in the flames, lava rocks are left to bake
Around a bonfire they dance and chant, do what lesbian witches do
In the sweat lodge, drugs make all of Hell go haywire
Drugs are poured on the molting rocks, the steam is a witches dream
Not man Native Americans in El Paso, that use a sweat lodge
So there is no legitimate reason for one to be there
But to devil worshiper, it is just a desguies
And another way for Satan to corrupt the sweat lodge
But all is seen that goes on there
Nothing hides from God's eyes
Form:
A young indian boy of ten summers old sat upon a knoll.
Watching a horse heard below,the great white stallion with his head held high.
He was the chiefs joy and pride, he had often heard the worriors say.
HE could run like the wind, as the young indian boy sat and dreamed of the day.
He would ride in a buffolo hunt with his arrow aimed true.
And ride like the wind upon his enemys too.
Then the white man came,the buffolo all gone, even his people are nearly all gone.
. As the old gray haired indian sits in his chair. dreaming how life would have been.
IF only the white man had never been there.
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