Look over there,
Just across the stream,
Do you see it now?
That majestic oak tree,

Under that very tree,
Many seasons ago,
My father taught me how,
To make arrow for bow,

And over great hill,
There is wide open space,
When first leaf would fall,
The harvest dance would take place,

Down in the meadow,
We follow small creek,
To hunt many deer,
Sometimes gone for many week,

This is our land,
This is where we call home,
The forest, river and fields,
Are all that I know,

The mighty bear spirit,
Whispers wind through these lands,
He shows us the balance,
Of animal and man,

Now my people are gathered,
We must get things and go,
Our spirits stay quiet,
From the great white cheif we are told,

Tears fall from many eye,
Like mighty storm cloud,
Our elders marched like animal,
A people once proud,

Stories are returned,
From tribes taken before us,
Of sickness and of death,
The winds of broke trust,

Cheif Jackson once friend,
Our warriors spare him slaughter,
We fight along side him,
Against white man across waters,

When the salmon swim north,
Eagle and Bear spirit see,
They hunt with the understanding,
To take only what need,

New people of this land,
Know not of our way,
They take without mercy,
To the spirit that gave,

We walk for many moons,
Echoe cries, forefathers long ago,
My people dying daily,
Left on trail in snow,

Two moons before,
Brother lie down with shut eye,
Pushed forward by firestick,
Never saying goodbye,

Many moons ahead,
Many harvests been reap,
Will they know its not what you take,
But in your heart what you keep...