An Indian Respects A Brave Man, But

It Makes My Heart Sick When I Remember All The Good Words And The Broken Promises.

When The Last Deer Disappears Into The Morning Mist, When The Last Elk Vanishes From The Hills, When The Last Buffalo Falls On The Plains, I Will Hunt Mice For I Am A Hunter And I Must Have My Freedom.

The Eye Tells What The Tongue Would Hide.

We Gave Up Some Of Our Country To The White Men, Thinking That Then We Could Have Peace. We Were Mistaken. The White Man Would Not Let Us Alone.

Cursed Be He That Scalps The Reputation Of The Dead.