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We live in a bowl made of sky and stars |
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Perched on the edge of the world |
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And around the Reservation everyone drives |
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In pick-ups and beaten-up cars |
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And the rattles and drums they rise and they fall |
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The circle unbroken in the village hall |
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With the flag of the conquerors high on the wall |
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And the sound of the foghorn on the island |
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Bury my heart deep in the forest |
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Perish my body in the cold, cold water |
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And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe |
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There were fish and there were whales out past the jagged rocks |
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Sharp like the teeth of the bay |
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And there are credit cheques cashed at the village store |
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And junk food and beer for the day |
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And the rattles and drums they rise and they fall |
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In the circle unbroken in the village hall |
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With the flag of the conquerors high on the wall |
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And the sound of the foghorn on the island |
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Bury my heart deep in the forest |
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Perish my body in the cold cold water |
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And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe |
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Look away, look away, the wolf transforms into a man |
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Some things should never be seen |
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And a hundred great birds swoop down across the breakers |
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And the Spirit Wind blows and things they just happen |
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So bury my heart deep in the forest |
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Perish my body in the cold cold water |
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And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe |
