A Cold Wind Blew On The Prairie

Now That We Are Poor, We Are Free. No White Man Controls Our Footsteps.

Inside Of Me There Are Two Dogs. One Is Mean And Evil And The Other Is Good And They Fight Each Other All The Time. When Asked Which One Wins I Answer, The One I Feed The Most.

Each Man Is Good In The Sight Of The Great Spirit. It Is Not Necessary For Eagles To Be Crows. Now We Are Poor But We Are Free. No White Man Controls Our Footsteps. If We Must Die, We Die Defending Our Rights.

This Nation Is Like A Spring Freshet; It Overruns Its Banks And Destroys All Who Are In Its Path.

I Will Remain What I Am Until I Die, A Hunter, And When There Are No Buffalo Or Other Game I Will Send My Children To Hunt And Live On Prairie, For Where An Indian Is Shut Up In One Place His Body Becomes Weak.