| As I went out in the open
|
| I left for awhile
|
| A tired stranger looking to be found
|
| And so I stood there in silence
|
| For someone to hear me
|
| For someone to make the first sound
|
| Someone to care for, someone to carry me home
|
| I headed west to touch the ground
|
| But the spirits didn’t make a sound
|
| As I stared in the face of Native America
|
| And so my pilgrimage progress
|
| Takes me over the land
|
| Just so that I can keep up with the rush
|
| And from the east to the west
|
| I can feel my heart beating
|
| To touch anything left untouched
|
| Someone to care for, someone to carry me home
|
| I headed west to touch the ground
|
| But the spirits didn’t make a sound
|
| As I stared in the face of Native America
|
| And so I leave to forget
|
| To rebuild the patriot
|
| With anything that I can find
|
| Am I a visitor always
|
| Always a stranger
|
| Never knowing what I’ve left behind?
|
| Someone to care for, someone to carry me home
|
| I headed west to touch the ground
|
| But the spirits didn’t make a sound
|
| As I stared in the face of Native America
|
| Out in the open, wherever I look
|
| And upon everything that I see
|
| Is an unwritten page to an unfinished book
|
| Of an ongoing history
|
| And as I stopped to really look around
|
| As the sun’s going up and down
|
| It changes the face of Native America
|
| And a river it runs right through
|
| N red, white, black and blue
|
| Straight down the face of Native America
|
| I headed west to touch the ground
|
| But the spirits didn’t make a sound
|
| As I stared in the face of Native America |