Soft Cry of the Sioux


Can you hear it, Can you hear it,
It's the Soft Cry of the Sioux.
Mourning loss of dignity,
Still clear, in minds eye view.

It's the same cry that the Sioux once screamed,
While riding into battle,
On painted ponies, thundering,
As their history unraveled.


The Soft Cry of the Sioux,
Reaches out and touches me,
As I ponder ghostly bodies,
Left behind on Wounded Knee.

The Soft Cry of the Sioux,
Echo's pain for what we've done.
Silent tears still fall, in memory of,
The intruder's cold, black, gun.

The gun that slaughtered many Braves,
The gun that killed their spirit.
The gun that said, white eyes are here,
The gun that told them, fear it.

The gun that broke the promises,
The gun that placed the blame.
The gun that killed their Buffalo,
The gun that doused their flame.

Their soft cry mourns eternal loss,
Resonating with a tune.
Listen closely, and you'll hear it,
It's The Soft Cry of the Sioux.


COPYRIGHT©1997 BONNIE TORRENTE