As

I

a

woke

this

eve

ning

with

the

smell

of

wood

smoke

cling

ing

Like

a

gen

tle

cob

web

hang

ing

up

on

a

pain

ted

tee

pee

Oh!

I

went

to

see

my

chief

tain

with

my

war

lance

and

my

wo

man

For

he

told

us

that

the

yel

low

moon

would

ver

y

soon

be

leav

ing

This

I

can't

be

lieve

I

said.

I

can't

be

lieve

our

war

lord's

dead

Oh,

he

would

not

leave

the

cho

sen

ones

to

the

buz

zards

and

the

sol

diers

guns

Oh

great

fa

ther

of

the

Ir

o

quios

ev

er

since

I

was

young

I've

read

the

wri

ting

of

the

smoke

and

breast

fed

on

the

sound

of

drums

I've

learned

to

hurl

the

tom

a

hawk

and

ride

a

pain

ted

po

ny

wild

To

run

the

guant

let

of

the

Sioux,

to

make

a

chief

tain's

daugh

ter

mine

And

now

you

ask

that

I

should

watch

the

red

man's

race

be

slow

ly

crushed!

What

kind

of

words

are

these

to

hear

from

Yel

low

Dog

whom

the

white

man

fears?

I

take

on

ly

what

is

mine

Lord,

my

po

ny,

my

squaw

and

my

child

I

can't

stay

to

see

you

die

a

long

with

my

tribe's

pride

I

go

to

search

for

the

yel

low

moon

and

the

fa

thers

of

our

sons

Where

the

red

sun

sinks

in

the

hills

of

gold

and

the

heal

ing

wa

ters

run

Tramp

ling

down

the

prai

rie

rose

leav

ing

hoof

tracks

in

the

sand

Those

who

wish

to

fol

low

me

I

wel

come

with

my

hands

I

heard

from

pass

ing

ren

e

gades,

Ge

ro

ni

mo

was

dead

He'd

been

lay

ing

down

his

wea

pons

when

they

filled

him

full

of

lead

Now

there

seems

no

rea

son

why

I

should

car

ry

on

In

this

land

thast

once

was

my

land

I

can't

find

a

home

It's

lone

ly

and

it's

qu

iet

and

the

horse

sol

diers

are

com

ing

And

I

think

it's

time

I

strung

my

bow

and

ceased

my

sense

less

runn

ing

For

soon

I'll

find

the

ye

low

moon

a

long

with

my

loved

ones

Where

the

buf

fa

los

graze

in

clo

ver

fields

with

out

the

sound

of

guns

And

the

red

sun

sinks

at

last,

in

to

the

hills

of

gold

And

peace

to

this

young

war

ri

or

comes

with

a

bul

let

hole