We Were Like Deer. They Were Like

I Cannot Tell How Much My Heart Suffered For My People While At Leavenworth.

The White Men Told Lies For Each Other. They Drove Off A Great Many Of Our Cattle. Some Branded Our Young Cattle So They Could Claim Them.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

The Earth Was Created By The Assistance Of The Sun, And It Should Be Left As It Was. The Country Was Made Without Lines Of Demarcation, And It Is No Man's Business To Divide It.

Words Do Not Pay For My Dead People.