Warren Haynes Indian Sunset

As I awoke this evening with the smell of wood smoke clinging

Like a gentle cobweb hanging upon a painted teepee

Oh I went to see my chieftain with my warlance and my woman

For he told us that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving

This I can’t believe I said, I can’t believe our warlord’s dead

Oh 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

I’ve read the writing of the smoke and breast fed on the sound of drums

I’ve learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild

To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftain’s daughter mine

And now you ask that I should watch

The red man’s race be slowly crushed

What kind of words are these to hear

From Yellow Dog whom white man fears

I take only what is mine Lord, my pony, my squaw, and my child

I can’t stay to see you die along with my tribe’s 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

Trampling down the prairie rose leaving hoof tracks in the sand

Those who wish to follow me I welcome with my hands

I heard from passing renegades Geronimo was dead

He’d 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 can’t find a home

It’s lonely and it’s quiet and the horse soldiers are coming

And I think it’s time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running

For soon I’ll find the yellow moon along with my loved ones

Where the buffaloes graze in 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