Perhaps You Have Noticed That Even In

All Over The Sky A Sacred Voice Is Calling Your Name.

Once We Were Happy In Our Own Country And We Were Seldom Hungry, For Then The Two-leggeds And The Four-leggeds Lived Together Like Relatives, And There Was Plenty For Them And For Us. But The Wasichus Came, And They Have Made Little Islands For Us And Other Little Islands For The Four-leggeds, And Always These Islands Are Becoming Smaller, For Around Them Surges The Gnawing Flood Of The Wasichu; And It Is Dirty With Lies And Greed.

It's In The Darkness Of Men's Eyes That They Get Lost.

All Things Are Our Relatives; What We Do To Everything, We Do To Ourselves. All Is Really One.

The Soldiers Did Go Away And Their Towns Were Torn Down; And In The Moon Of Falling Leaves (november), They Made A Treaty With Red Cloud That Said Our Country Would Be Ours As Long As Grass Should Grow And Water Flow.