The West

Can you hear those cries?
Can you hear those agonizing cries of despair?
We must fall to the beat of the toms-toms,
Of the rattling leaves,
Of tough leather voices. Come journey to the free land,
To a home, a dream, a universe of sacred reality;
A land born from the hands of the Creator; our loving Father. Come child of the stars, daughter of the wolf, son of wild horses.
We are but characters of the western story.
The cowards, the noble, the strong.
Reveal your dreamcatcher's secrets to the horizon. We are born of swirling dust, of the river,
Beneath the sacred rock is the heartbeat of the world. I must go home to the forefathers;
The ancient ones; shamans, medicine men who sing to the moon.
With strong voices they croon,
To nature a west they lost,
Whose lives it cost,
It was not a land sold as the soul of Faust.

by Chris Houk

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