
Now that your big eyes have finally opened, Now that you're wondering how must they feel, Meaning them that you've chased across America's movie screens. Now that you're wondering how can it be real That the ones you've called colorful, noble and proud In your school propaganda They starve in their splendor? You've asked for my comment I simply will render: My country 'tis of thy people you're dying. Now that the longhouses breed superstition You force us to send our toddlers away To your schools where they're taught to despise their traditions. You forbid them their languages, then further say That American history really began When Columbus set sail out of Europe, then stress That the nation of leeches that conquered this land Are the biggest and bravest and boldest and best. And yet where in your history books is the tale Of the genocide basic to this country's birth, Of the preachers who lied, how the Bill of Rights failed, How a nation of patriots returned to their earth? And where will it tell of the Liberty Bell As it rang with a thud O'er Kinzua mud, And of brave Uncle Sam in Alaska this year? My country 'tis of thy people you're dying. Hear how the bargain was made for the West: With her shivering children in zero degrees, Blankets for your land, so the treaties attest, Oh well, blankets for land is a bargain indeed, And the blankets were those Uncle Sam had collected From smallpox-diseased dying soldiers that day. And the tribes were wiped out and the history <b>...</b>
Buffy
Sainte
Marie
My
country
'Tis
Of
Thy
People
You're
Dying
Native
American
Music
singer