A multitude of many Nations, listen to me and you will hear ...

Stories passed down by the old ones, of Warriors who refuse to disappear ...

We still roam this great land, in the fields our spirits stand strong ...

It is here our people were born, this is where we will always belong ...

When the streets seem empty, and you feel that you are alone ...

The host are all around you, all the places we have ever known ...

We are in the mountain high, down in the forest deep ...

Traveling over open meadows, while in slumber you sleep ...

Still protecting Mother Earth, preserving it for future generations ...

Our path was simply laid before us, all my brothers, my relations ...

Never will there come a time, that the flutes of the Indian past ...

Cannot be heard in echoing songs, when the full moon in shadows cast ...

The ancient Red Rode of  truth, something we know only to well ...

As our children begin to understand, these are the things we will tell ...

Our Braves they fought for peace, hopeful they could hand down ...

Such a blessed way of life, that lay upon our sacred ground ...

Grandfathers speak much wisdom, love in their hearts for mankind ...

Knowledge they seem to know, plans of the Sky Father's design.