text: As he awoke that evening with the smell of wood-smoke clinging
  Like a gentle cobweb hangin upon a painted teepee
  He went to see his chieftain with his war lance and his woman
  For they told him that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving
  oh, this I cant believe, he said, I wont believe our war lords dead!
  He would not leave the chosen ones to the buzzards and the soldiers guns
  Oh, great father of the Iroquois, ever since I was young
  Ive read the writing of the smoke and breast-fed on the sound of drums
  Ive learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild
  To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftains daughter mine
  And now you ask that I should watch the red mens race be slowly crushed?
  What kind of words are these to hear from yellow dog, whom the white man fears?
  I take only what is mine; my pony, my squaw, and my child
  I cant stay to see you die, along with my tribes pride
  I go to search for the yellow moon and the fathers of our sons
  Where the red sun sinks in the hills of gold and the healing waters run
  Tramplin down the prairie rose, leaving hooftracks in the sand
  Those who wish to follow me, I welcome with my hand
  I heard from passing renegades, Geronimo was dead
  Hed been laying down his weapons when they filled him full of lead
  Now there seems no reason why I should carry on
  In this land that once was my land I cant find a home
  Its lonely and its quiet and the horse soldiers are comin
  And I think its time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running
  For now Ill find the yellow moon along with my loved ones
  Where the buffloes graze in the clover fields without the sound of guns
  And the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold
  And peace to this young warrior comes with a bullet hole!