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Cry
We are the First People
Sioux, Cheyenne, Cherokee
We are the Original
Mohawk, Huron, Cree
We cared for the land
Hunted only our need
Gathered by hand
For our people to feed
Lived under clear sky
Drank from clean water
As seasons went by
This land not alter
Game hiding in the wood
Buffalo moving on the plain
Where ancestors once stood
Our tears fall like rain
Gone is the great tree
The great herds are bone
Now all that we see
Paths made of false stone
Cry for what has gone
Cry for our children
Cry as time goes along
Cry for what might have been
