Native Voices

They come at night, by the moon and in my dreams

Echoes of the past, anguished screams

I hear them in the rustle of the leaves on the trees,

In the rush of the river, on the evening breeze.

Our modern voices reverberate with sorrow and pain

Many languages of the past will never be heard again

Drums and songs speak of lives lost

History books rarely mention this cost

And now our voices are silent no more

I feel them rise in unity, not war

Chants, music, tobacco, and prayer

Swell in my heart, carried by the air

For so very long, we were given no choices

Now hear us claim our power, sweet Native voices