I see your faces of your fathersHeavy are coldCarved on your holy silverCarved on your holy goldBut I will not be paidIn a tale untoldAnd that cottonwood windCan never be soldI see the eyes of your fathersStone and stillCarved on the ridgeOf my mother’s Black HillsI see the eagles taking wingOn a white man’s willBut that dust don’t settle easyWhere the blood was spilledWhite words on the windWhite words on the hillsWhite wordsBlack hillsI see the words of your fathersCracked hard and hungHovering low on the hillsLike a setting sunLike an unrolled thunderAnd a rain unsungThere’s a whisper on the windOf a word undone
