Good Words Will Not Give Me Back

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.

I Did Not Want My People Killed. I Did Not Want Bloodshed.

Our Chiefs Are Killed. . . . The Little Children Are Freezing To Death. . . . My People Have No Blankets, No Food. . . . My Heart Is Sick And Sad. . . . I Will Fight No More Forever.

I Am Not A Child, I Think For Myself. No Man Can Think For Me.

Whenever The White Man Treats The Indian As They Treat Each Other, Then We Will Have No More Wars. We Shall All Be Alike-brothers Of One Father And One Another, With One Sky Above Us And One Country Around Us, And One Government For All.