Weathered grasslands called to pass
Sidelong glances drifting past
Echoed corridors lined with dreams
Forgotten places endless scenes
Why now called the summer flower
Willow tree bends to earth’s power
Rainbows arching cross blue sky
Lightning flashes slowly passing by
As if in answer prophets cry
Unread books on roads gone awry
Speaking of faith so many try
Eagles swirl alone up high
Tongues there spoken far and wide
As white mans sailing ships sails set high
Reaching new lands to supply
The different things he bring they cry
Born of welcome to white ghosts
Never fearing their new hosts
Times they pass and things they've seen
The destruction of their race no dream
Generation’s blame and lies
No so many white men cries
Cities built cross-sacred sites
Blots on landscape once so nice
Whatever happened to the Blackman’s rights

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