The Dreamcatcher

Grandma hangs a dreamcatcher over my restless bed,
threads of old O-jib-way prayers in every careful thread.
It lets the gentle dreams fall through like morning’s silver rain,
and catches all the nightmares born from history and pain.

They taught me not to walk on Earth like I own every stone,
but step like I’m a visitor, this land is not my throne.
The rivers carry stories that my elders used to say,
“Take only what you truly need, and give more back than you take away.”

(Pre chorus)
The dreamcatcher, threads and feathers, hanging quiet in the air,
the dreamcatcher stands by children like a whispered, wordless prayer.

In a circle there’s no head seat, every voice can have its turn,
we pass the food and pass the truth, and listen more than we burn.
If one heart in the village breaks, the whole camp feels that tear,
we’re measured not by what we have, but by how much we share.

They told me strength is not the fist, it’s standing calm and true,
to speak your truth without the need to crush the ones who hurt you.
To bow my head before the elders, not before the lies,
and keep my spirit humble while my people learn to rise.

(Pre-chorus)
The dreamcatcher doesn’t raise a fist, it just sifts the dark from light,
the dreamcatcher holds our hopes like stars, so we can make it through the night.

(Bridge)
I’m still learning all these stories, but I feel them in my veins,
a people standing gentle in a world that called them names.
From the web above my pillow to the roots beneath my feet,
their love for land and one another makes the circle feel complete.

(Chorus)
The dreamcatcher, threads and feathers, hanging quiet in the air,
the dreamcatcher stands by children like a whispered, wordless prayer.
The dreamcatcher doesn’t raise a fist, it just sifts the dark from light,
the dreamcatcher holds our hopes like stars, so we can make it through the night.

Mid‑tempo folk‑rock or indie pop
Use steady drum pattern 
Female singer