Battle Of Greasy Grass

Sunrise paints the Bighorn red, a chill wind whispers low The Greasy Grass, our sacred ground, where wild things freely go But shadows stir on the horizon, a dust cloud in the air The bluecoats come, with thundering hooves, and fire in their stare

Crazy Horse, he leads the charge, a whirlwind on the plain Gall, and Sitting Bull beside him, spirits strong as rain The women sing a battle song, a cry to Wakan Tanka's ear Protect our warriors, guide their hands, and banish all our fear

The smoke it stings, the bullets fly, a chaos fills the air We see them fall, those pale-faced men, caught in our hunting snare But victory's sweet taste turns to ash, a bitter, burning pain For we know this fight will bring them back, again and yet again

They call it Little Bighorn, a victory hard-won But Greasy Grass is what we know, the place the fight begun We fought for kin, we fought for land, beneath the summer sun And though the day was ours to claim, the long war's never done

The Greasy Grass remembers all, the blood, the cries, the cost A hollow victory we hold, a future forever lost The wind still whispers on the plain, a mournful, haunting sound For the fallen brave of the tribes, upon this sacred ground.

Native American theme, native chanting, drums, rattles, flutes, whistles