Hatak Fullih Nipi Foni,
The Bone Picker waits for you:
To scrape your bones for all to see
With fingernails long and true .

Your scaffold is prepared, old soul;
The bearskin craves your presence.
The Bone Picker, tattooed and painted,
Scoffs at your meek resistance.

He=ll paint your skull vermillion,
Through cries and wails of loved ones;
He=ll gather up your broken bones
For burial when his work=s done.

What quickens you to fill your lungs?
What inspires your feet onward?
What prevents him from lighting the fire
That burns until your bones char?

Pray for suns upon your brow;
Rejoice for moons to dance by;
Run with dirt beneath you feet,
Through grass, wind, and blue sky.

Hunt for turkey, deer, and bear,
Or you become the hunted.
Until your bones are inside his box,
The Bone Picker=s soul is haunted.

Follow the River of Life bravely
To delay his feast one more day.
Long life bring you safely home
To the sacred mound, Nanih Waiya.