Cherokee ,Chickasaw, Cree, Mohawk
Just a few that lost to the history of lies
Old Yellow Hair and his lips of double talk
Seminole, Lenapi Choctaw, Wyandotte
Great Nations under Fathers skies

He says lets take what they got
If they resist, each one dies
Land is what we need
Doesn't matter if (they bleed)
One by one or a thousand and one
This white man uses his gun
October 1838 skies...

The march begins...
Let's see how many dies
For the land of these redskins

Little Star stood as if her feet
were incased in concrete
The auctioneers gavel struck
Heart pounding and defiance upon her face
She felt the stab, as her heart shriveled and shook
As she heard the order to march!
No more would she see her family home place
Her throat constricted and parch
Sold to the highest bidder!

Days of hunger and cold so bitter
The Trail Of Tears
survived by only the fitter

Bloody road , unmarked graves,
Yet still echoes from yesterdays
Cherokee rose now grows
where fell to the ground their tears

As the Elders prayed for a sign
for mothers not to resign
Each tear drop became a rose
seven leaves on stem petal of white
and centers gold glows

On a clear night you can hear..
The echoes from the Trail Of Tears
A distant baby's cry upon the wind

Rain falling from a moonlit starry night
Moaning sorrow wafting across the land
Angel tears fell as they watched this sight
Perpetrated by lash and hand...

Four thousand Cherokee alone died
And the Spirits cried....

As the march labored on into November
The sleeting rain and snow claimed many more
That would not live to see December

Some rode...
but most walked that bloody road
There's more to this story
yet to be told

You won't find it in your history book
The truth about all they took

Sit beside your grandmother and listen
Because she knows....
how the rest of this story goes..