The haunting flute of the Indian
Whispers and weaves through The reeds
And there The Great Spirit Travails
For all of the white man's Misdeeds.Where the natives have Languished and lingered
Before their great trail of tears
You can still hear their voices Cry out
From the earth, lo, for all of These years.Bang the drum where their Voices now carry
Light a fire to signal on high
The Great Spirit still grieves For the red man
If you listen you might hear Him cry.
Whispers and weaves through The reeds
And there The Great Spirit Travails
For all of the white man's Misdeeds.Where the natives have Languished and lingered
Before their great trail of tears
You can still hear their voices Cry out
From the earth, lo, for all of These years.Bang the drum where their Voices now carry
Light a fire to signal on high
The Great Spirit still grieves For the red man
If you listen you might hear Him cry.
"If only I were appointed judge in the land! Then everyone who has a complaint or case could come to me and I would see that he gets justice."
(2 Sam 15:4)
