As he awoke that evening with the smell of wood-smoke clinging Like a gentle cobweb hangin' upon a painted teepee He went to see his chieftain with his war lance and his woman For they told him that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving "Oh, this I can't believe, "he said, "I won't believe our war lord's dead! He would not leave the chosen ones to the buzzards and the soldiers' guns"
Oh, great Father of the Iroquois, ever since I was young I've read the writing of the smoke and breast-fed on the sound of drums I've learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild, To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftain's daughter mine
And now you ask that I should watch the red men's race be slowly crushed? What kind of words are these to hear from Yellow Dog, whom the white man fears?
I take only what is mine; my pony, my squaw, and my child I can't stay to see you die, along with my tribe's pride I go to search for the yellow moon and the fathers of our sons Where the red sun sinks in the hills of gold and the healing waters run
Tramplin' down the prairie rose, leaving hooftracks in the sand Those who wish to follow me, I welcome with my hand I heard from passing renegades, Geronimo was dead He'd been laying down his weapons when they filled him full of lead
Now there seems no reason why I should carry on In this land that once was my land I can't find a home It's lonely and it's quiet and the horse soldiers are comin' And I think it's time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running For now I'll find the yellow moon along with my loved ones Where the buff'loes graze in the clover fields without the sound of guns And the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold And peace to this young warrior comes with a bullet hole!