Echoes in the Wind

Somewhere over the Black Hills
The winds whistles as it carries
Ancient sounds of long ago
Before they come with greed in their hearts
And spilled blood of both sides into our rivers and streams

Somewhere over Wounded Knee and Little Big Horn
The wind cries a sullen tune
The blood and tears of our people can be seen
The terror and screams of death heard in the wind
Ancient drums beat our prayers for answers still seek their place
And seek the day Our Black Hills are some day Returned

The echoes of the wind carry the names
Of Sitting Bull, Little Big Man, Geronimo, Touch the Clouds
To name a few
And of all those who Died all those who Survived
To Teach The TRUTH

O tell the world That The Red Nation Stands United
May the names Soar the Wind as the Eagles Still Do
The Winds Carries the Children’s Laughter, Their Tears

The Echoes of the Wind, Tells the Story, Holds the Truth