I was born upon this land
The rights I do not own
& I shared with men
Who reached my shores
A offered them a home
But now the rivers run with blood
Our livelihoods are sold
& now I want to catch the man
Who stole Apache gold
I’ve seen the herds of buffalo
Sweeping across the plains
I’ve seen the wagons loaded full of guns
For territorial gains
I’ve seen the camps of nomads
On the mountains up on high
& the eagle of America
Fly through the frozen sky
I’ve watched the railway spread it’s tracks
& open up the land
& the white man build an empire
On cold grey rocks & sand
But now the rivers run with blood
Our livelihoods are sold
& now I want to catch the man
Who stole Apache gold
© Sean P. Ransom, 1998