An Indian Respects A Brave Man, But

Hear Me, My Chiefs! I Am Tired. My Heart Is Sick And Sad. From Where The Sun Now Stands, I Will Fight No More Forever.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

The Eye Tells What The Tongue Would Hide.

For A Short Time We Lived Quietly. But This Could Not Last. White Men Had Found Gold In The Mountains Around The Land Of Winding Water.

I Will Obey Every Law, Or Submit To The Penalty.