Indian Sunset

(*) As I awoke this evening with the smell of wood smoke clinging Like a gentle cobweb hanging upon a painted tepee Oh I went to see my chieftain with my warlance and my woman For he told us that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving This I can't believe I said, I can't believe our warlord's dead Oh he would not leave the chosen ones to the buzzards and the soldiers guns Oh great father of the Iroquois ever since I was young I've read the writing of the smoke and breast fed on the sound of drums I've learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftain's daughter mine And now you ask that I should watch The red man's race be slowly crushed What kind of words are these to hear From Yellow Dog whom white man fears I take only what is mine Lord, my pony, my squaw, and my child I can't stay to see you die along with my tribe's pride I go to search for the yellow moon and the fathers of our sons