As I awoke this evening with the smell of wood smoke clinging, like a gentle cobweb
hanging upon a painted teepee. Oh, I went to see my chieftain with my war lance 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, we will 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 breastfed 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 a white man fear?
Oh, 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,
where the red sun sinks in the hills of gold and the healing waters run.
Trampling down the prairie roads, leaving hoof tracks in the sand,
those who wish to follow me, I welcome with my hands.
I heard from passing renegades,
Geronimo was dead. He'd been laying down his weapons when they filled him full of lead.
And now there seems no reason why I should carry on. In this land that once was my land,
I can't find a home. It's lonely and it's quiet and the horse soldiers are coming.
And I think it's time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running.
But soon I'll find the yellow moon along with my loved ones, where the buffaloes graze in clover
fields without the sound of guns and the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold.
A beast of this young warrior comes with a bullet heart.
A beast of this young warrior comes with a bullet heart.