domingo, 20 de mayo de 2012

You think I'm an ignorant savage                                                         
And you've been so many places                                                                       
I guess it must be so                                                                                 
But still I cannot see                                                                                       
If the savage one is me                                                                                                 
How can there be so much that you don't know?                       
You don't know ...                                                                                                                


You think you own whatever land you land on 
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim        
But I know every rock and tree and creature                 
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name                                                  


You think the only people who are people                   
Are the people who look and think like you                   
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger                                 
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew              


Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?               
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?      
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?             
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?                       
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?                   



Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest                     
Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth                            
Come roll in all the riches all around you                         
And for once, never wonder what they're worth              


The rainstorm and the river are my brothers                                    
The heron and the otter are my friends                                              
And we are all connected to each other                                          
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends                                           

How high will the sycamore grow? 
If you cut it down, then you'll never know 
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon 


For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind



You can own the Earth and still
All you'll own is Earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind


No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario