They were the first, in the land of the free.
They were the ones, who have taught me to see.
It is there love, for Mother Earth and Father Sky.
I will always hear the chant's, that the Natives cry.

The Buffalo runs on land, and the Eagle soars above.
Our Mother gives us food, and our Father gives us love.
I see them dance for victory, I see them dance for rain.
I see them dye with honor, I see them die in pain.

I walk through the woods, and the animals don't run.
It's been a long journey, and now my journey is done.
I enter the spirit world, and I see the young and old.
It's everything I believed in, it's everything I've been told.

A native is a friend, even though we've never met.
I look them in the eyes, as I begin to sweat.
We have so much in common, as strangers often do.
Mother Earth has taught us both, that all her ways are true.

But will they allow me brotherhood, in there native ways?
Letting me dance the circle, of the forgotten days?
Knowing I am half and half, I'd rather be the red.
But I am only proud... of the natives who are dead.