White men come; I’ve seen their wagons,

White men come with many guns,

Digging holes into the mountains,

Many times they’re told don’t come,

They desecrate our sacred places,

Searching for their yellow stones,

They swarm like flies across the valleys,

Fencing it to be their homes,

Many times we smoked the peace pipe,

Many times they gave their word,

No white man would cross the Black Hills,

Many promises we heard,

But white mans promises are broken,

Before the words have left their tongue,

Thousands come in covered wagons,

Men and women with their young,

We tried to drive them from the Black Hills,

But soldiers come to make a war,

It seems the white man’s soon forgotten,

Promises he made before,

White men’s words are empty quivers,

They have no power and no point,

They’re promises they can’t deliver,

To build our hopes then disappoint,

What choice had we but paint our faces,

And vow to fight until the last,

Years ago wise Hiawafa,

Said these things would come to pass,

And just the way he had predicted,

White men came like grains of sand,

Ploughing, digging, damning rivers

Where once were known as Indian land,

The battles that we fought were many,

White and Indian died alike,

Thunder sticks would bark their presents,

Tom-toms beat throughout the night,

Many times our drums were silenced,

By the white man’s empty words,

But hunting grounds became their pastures,

Grazed by nothing but their herds,

Buffalo that once were plenty,

Now too scarce to feed a tribe,

Slaughtered in there tens of thousands,

White men only want their hides,

The army pay men such as Cody,

To supply their cooks with buffalo hump,

They believe that’s all that can be eaten,

Buffalo carcasses are dumped,

Yet Indian uses all the buffalo,

Hide and sinew, meat and bone,

Buffalo meat makes tribe grow stronger

Bones for weapons hides for homes,

Now buffalo too scarce for hunting,

Canvas must replace their hides,

White man said this would not happen,

Just another white mans lie,

Black Kettle made piece with the white man,

Flew their flag for all to see,

Still twice they made war on his village,

And killed them all at Wounded Knee,

White mans words are like the fire smoke,

Comforting but hard to hold,

Perhaps things could have turned out different,

If not for the lies the white man told.

 By S.E.Ralph

22-1-2012