When My Young Men Began The Killing,

Good Words Will Not Give Me Back My Children.

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 Would Have Given My Own Life If I Could Have Undone The Killing Of White Men By My People.

Good Words Will Not Give My People Good Health And Stop Them From Dying. Good Words Will Not Get My People A Home Where They Can Live In Peace And Take Care Of Themselves. I Am Tired Of Talk That Comes To Nothing. It Makes My Heart Sick When I Remember All The Good Words And Broken Promises.

My Father Was The First To See Through The Schemes Of The White Man.