The Last Days Of Old.  

 The white man all came, and wanted to tame, the wild, wild, west that they'd found. They took without asking, they lied without thought, and they killed without halt or regret.

 The bison are gone, from the prairies so long, and the song of the medicine grows strong. But they hear no reply, as they reach for the sky, for they have reached the end of their trail.

 Crazy Horse is dead, and Red Cloud had said, I come before the great father, not as a thief or a robber, but as a friend to ask you for peace.

 Their freedom cry's rise, but are ignored from the white eyes, that are blinded from the false words of the wise.

 Where will they go, so their children will know, of the brave hearts from long, long ago.

 What will they eat, when there is no more meat, and they soon become week with hunger.

 And when will they seek, for shelter from the heat, and sleep without worry of doom.

 No more will they rise, and live out their lives, like the Great Tribes of long, long ago. 

         

---

        Amanda G.Haumesser.   

 

---