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FREEDOMWAYS          THIRD QUARTER 1973

And few were the moccasins remaining
That crushed the grass
The sages watched
With partly closed eyes
Their idle sons and daughters
Who were robbed of their manhood and womanhood
Robbed of their dignity
Robbed with every sunrise
Of their native heritage
Of Mother earth.

The tribal sages
Turned to their great spirit of freedom
Who for centuries
Remained sheltered in every tribe
To nurture the young
Who at the close of another century
Once again came in caravans
To stand armed
Facing across no-man's land
An armored ring
Of White House goons
Who waited for a signal
To repeat the horror of 1890.

And you well fed America
Silent through the violence
Of all these centuries
Accepted your master's dictum
Of death for the red man to be good
Siding with the dealers of death
To raise the sword upon other nations
And to knot the lynch rope
Upon your red and black brothers.

Smoke signals are revived
Wounded Knee is a smoke signal
Banding once again all the tribes
To recover their most precious loss
Freedom
No longer do red men

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