And spoke the hatchet to the Indian brave...
This poem is about a call to honour. The protagonist is an American Indian brave who has returned from a meeting of clans with the white settlers and has agreed to a shameful peace. This peace declares the Sioux Indians who've been living off the South Dakota lands for centuries homeless, to be settled someplace in a reservation.
According to Indian custom, the burial of a hatchet meant the cessation of hostility between tribes. This gave birth to the phrase "burying the hatchet" indicating a truce.
The hatchet speaks to the brave egging him to take up arms and break the truce...
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You and i, are one and the same,
Mere pawns in the Great Spirit's Game
Rise up to glory, rise up to fame,
but bowed has your head down in shame?
What is peace, what is truce?
Weapons for a victim's abuse!
A lifetime of misery, a lifetime of pain,
Is this the price for a moment's refrain?
My tongue it yearns for blood to taste,
Yet here am i buried in waste
I was born for honour to upkeep,
not witness silently the tears you weep
Thy enemy's lifeblood i shall taste,
His body shall be the one i waste
Free were we, and free shall we be
White settlers no more shall we see
Learn to be brave, learn to be bold,
You and i, we must be cold
Together we shall teach the White Man,
These sacred lands are not be sold!
This poem is about a call to honour. The protagonist is an American Indian brave who has returned from a meeting of clans with the white settlers and has agreed to a shameful peace. This peace declares the Sioux Indians who've been living off the South Dakota lands for centuries homeless, to be settled someplace in a reservation.
According to Indian custom, the burial of a hatchet meant the cessation of hostility between tribes. This gave birth to the phrase "burying the hatchet" indicating a truce.
The hatchet speaks to the brave egging him to take up arms and break the truce...
******************************
You and i, are one and the same,
Mere pawns in the Great Spirit's Game
Rise up to glory, rise up to fame,
but bowed has your head down in shame?
What is peace, what is truce?
Weapons for a victim's abuse!
A lifetime of misery, a lifetime of pain,
Is this the price for a moment's refrain?
My tongue it yearns for blood to taste,
Yet here am i buried in waste
I was born for honour to upkeep,
not witness silently the tears you weep
Thy enemy's lifeblood i shall taste,
His body shall be the one i waste
Free were we, and free shall we be
White settlers no more shall we see
Learn to be brave, learn to be bold,
You and i, we must be cold
Together we shall teach the White Man,
These sacred lands are not be sold!
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