I see your faces of your fathers
Heavy are cold
Carved on your holy silver
Carved on your holy gold
But I will not be paid
In a tale untold
And that cottonwood wind
Can never be sold
I see the eyes of your fathers
Stone and still
Carved on the ridge
Of my mother’s Black Hills
I see the eagles taking wing
On a white man’s will
But that dust don’t settle easy
Where the blood was spilled
White words on the wind
White words on the hills
White words
Black hills
I see the words of your fathers
Cracked hard and hung
Hovering low on the hills
Like a setting sun
Like an unrolled thunder
And a rain unsung
There’s a whisper on the wind
Of a word undone
