| We live in a bowl made of sky and stars
|
| Perched on the edge of the world
|
| And around the Reservation everyone drives
|
| In pick-ups and beaten-up cars
|
| And the rattles and drums they rise and they fall
|
| The circle unbroken in the village hall
|
| With the flag of the conquerors high on the wall
|
| And the sound of the foghorn on the island
|
| Bury my heart deep in the forest
|
| Perish my body in the cold, cold water
|
| And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe
|
| There were fish and there were whales out past the jagged rocks
|
| Sharp like the teeth of the bay
|
| And there are credit cheques cashed at the village store
|
| And junk food and beer for the day
|
| And the rattles and drums they rise and they fall
|
| In the circle unbroken in the village hall
|
| With the flag of the conquerors high on the wall
|
| And the sound of the foghorn on the island
|
| Bury my heart deep in the forest
|
| Perish my body in the cold cold water
|
| And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe
|
| Look away, look away, the wolf transforms into a man
|
| Some things should never be seen
|
| And a hundred great birds swoop down across the breakers
|
| And the Spirit Wind blows and things they just happen
|
| So bury my heart deep in the forest
|
| Perish my body in the cold cold water
|
| And bless what is left, bless what is left of the tribe |