what the Indian said

the American Indian stole my heart

she carried it to her sacred land

buried it deeply at wounded knee

she never asked me what i wanted to be

if i were to grow in size

foolishly fooling around while acting wise

crying on the open prairie 

over top of all the unmarked graves

the noise of galloping wild horses

war cries of the charging braves

smoke curling low on the land

drumming up the mountain top

amplified music piercing my soul

but there's not enough money to pay my toll

tribal lands with ghost riders of the lost

carrying their burden whatever the cost

laments wailing at the dying of a rose

in whatever direction the heated air blows,

i simply sit reading by candlelight

looking out my western-facing window;

and when it was finally time for bed

I still hadn't learned the lesson of what the Indian said.