Dance to the sun
A kiss to the earth
Embrace a stone
Come the small black book
Come the brandy cask
One strange disease
The well worded paper
Signed by the drunken
Hands of thieves
And suddenly
They were told to leave
As the snake uncoiled on a road
The length was eighty miles
Wagons' weary horses
Lead the feverish exiles
Barefoot in the early snow
On a ridge
Where they beheld their home
Coarse and barren
Not the haven
Promised by the Father
Jaksa Chula Harjo
Jaksa Chula Harjo
Jaksa Chula Harjo **
The Red Sticks first and
The Dancing Ghosts were
Pierced with arms of fire
And the weeping widows
Left could not avenge
So the Western Star manifest its will
Drove them clear into the Pacific O
Gone the way of flesh
Turned pale and died
By your god's decree
For he hated me
** Cherokee name for Andrew Jackson
The 7th president of the U.S.A.
An August day in the hills of Spain, a pair of children emerged from a cave.
The strangest sight there alone they stood,
with skin of green and words no one had heard.
The girl was stronger, the boy was weak,
with her new mother she learned to speak.
And wove a tale of a dying sun, they had left darkness,
a dark world come undone.
They travelled so far. Believing they came from a star.
She fell through life, through time, through parallel lives.
The men of science, the men of fame, the men of letters tried to explain:
Was it parallel worlds or a twist of time to make her
think she'd fallen from the sky?
A whirlwind spun them all alone, took them from their twilight home.
Believing they came from a star.