An Honorable American - ON WRITING AND RUNNING

In the setting sun of years gone by
He walked alone, his head held high
Free with the wind on the prairie at night
Free as a soaring eagle in flight
He once was king of his domain
But then one day he felt the pain
The pain of outstretched, greedy arms
Which took his hills, his lands, his farms
They took his lands when he died
And most of all, they took his pride
Injustice was done in every known way
He kept losing more, day by day
Mighty chieftains die one by one
All the Indians are on the run
Trying to escape the white man’s grasp
Searching for that one last gasp
Unmerciful slaughter, meaningless dead
“The only good Indians I ever saw were dead”
They sought out peace across the nation
And finally met degradation
No more chances to be free
They buried their hearts at Wounded Knee