In my ears calls
the drumbeat of my ancestors.

From many winters past
When the buffalo were countless.

And around the fires of the tribe
Passed the pipe of peace.

And the thunder of wild horses on the plains
deafened the ears.

The drumbeat
Comforting and disturbing.
Breaking my complacency
Begging me to return
to the ways
Of my people

To sing of my heritage.
That my forefathers
entrusted to my care.

Before the white man came
With his sticks of fire
Before they stole our land
And our children.
And killed our ways.

Come back to us my son
The ceaseless drumbeat calls.
We are your forefathers
And we cannot sleep

Touch the land
neath your feet.
For it is yours.
It is the gift
of our heritage

Listen my son
Listen to my heart
Hear my drumbeat.