The two of us have Indian eye’s, my friend ~Guanja and me.
I know not what tribe’s blood flows through her veins,
But mine is Cherokee.
Although it doesn’t really matter about the tribe or name,
Because when it comes to Indian eye’s, they are all the same.
Indians can see back into centuries ago,
Into a softly falling rain,
A giant herd of buffalo grazing peacefully on the plain.
They can see an Indian village;
Its campfires all aglow,
And the little village children running to and fro.
They can see braves astride their ponies,
With bows slung across their backs, riding silently
Through the forest on the trail of a grizzly’s tracks.
They can see Indian maidens laughing
And chattering happily,
As they weave their beautiful baskets
From the branches of a willow tree.
They can see a chief in his council house,
Holding a meeting there with a beautiful eagle feather
Headdress adorning his raven hair.
Yes the two of us have Indian eye’s, my friend ~Guanja and me,
And these are just a few of the things
These eye’s of mine and ~Guanja see.