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Iskra
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Battle of the Hundred Slain
The circle is broken and my people are dying
enduring hardships beyond word, or imagination
years upon years of disease and warfare
displacement, provocations, massacres
once again we gather before the breaking day
with my people I ride the mountain pass
today we will show our strength
today is a good day, a day to die
for we must protect the forests
for our children yet to be born
protect the forests for those who cannot speak
birds, animals, and the ancient trees
I remember when the bison were many
so many, beyond count
but more and more came to kill
until there was only heaps of scattered bones
when it comes time to die
be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear
fear of death
when their time comes
they weep and pray and beg to live their lives again
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live again
but life is but the flash of a firefly burning in the night
it is the breath of a buffalo in the winter winds
it is the shadow which runs across the grass
losing itself in the dying sun
cold and grey the morning dawns
snow blankets the valleys, and pines
sub-zero winds blast the ridges
as we ride through the Blackhills, to death
on this day, cold, sullen, and grey
sing your death song, and die
like a hero going home
for these lands are why my dead lie
a little while and I will be gone from among you
from nowhere we came, into nowhere we go
I was born where winds blow free
and these are the lands where I shall die
I shall die
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