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The Ballad of Frank Clearwater

Ron Turner
Lingua: Inglese


Ron Turner

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Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee
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(1973)
Words and music by Ron Turner
Broadside #123

Frank Clearwater


Frank James Clearwater (1925-1973) – Find a Grave...

Frank Clearwater era un Cherokee (e non Apache come dice la canzone) ucciso da un maresciallo dell'esercito statunitense durante una protesta per i diritti dei nativi americani nel luogo simbolico di Wounded Knee.
Frank Clearwater was shoot in the head
One Apache who longed to be free
He dared to raise his voice and his hand
Bury him at Wounded Knee

For a man that lives with death all around
knows its own days are numbered and few
Frank Clearwater cried out with his voice
to be heard by me and you

Starve them or shoot them was just policy
Set by the government
The Indians were forced inside a church
Word came that food would be sent

But the food to come would not feed his heart
Frank Clearwater held his head high
He stood for the innocent and spoke for the brave
As bitterness burned in his eyes

We are not free to choose our own men
To speak for us and the land
The courts provide for the enemy outside
But there are no courts for Indians

Look to the hills, our enemy surrounds
Like vultures who wait for the kill
And all of this land, and all of its wealth
Could never their hunger fill

I'm sick of the lies, I'm sick of the deeds
You'd have to be blind to not see
A great tribe of Sioux was once slaughtered here
Is there no death with dignity

Men counsel us with peace on their lips
But their words are heavy with lies
The treaties to which our red hand is forced
To us say 'Surrender or die.'

When all confusion has cleared from the plains
And the soldiers have pulled out
And the sound of battle fades in the sun
And the smoke of the guns drifts about

We must not be forgotten here
One thing must not fail
Someone will rise to stand in my place
And bear the truth of our tale."

The face of his wife and the child that she bore
Caused him to catch his breath
For troubled in sleep he'd seen in a dream
The coming of his death

For a man that lives with death all around
knows its own days are numbered and few
Frank Clearwater cried out with his voice
to be heard by me and you

Across the sky, two planes were seen
Food and supplies were dropped down
One helicopter, an angel of death
Hovered over the ground

One eye sighted through the scope of a gun
At the figure outside the door
One bullet was fired and true to its mark
Frank Clearwater'd live no more

As the crack of the rifle died in the wind
A death wail was heard overhead
And the child inside a young mother's womb
Would be born to a father who's dead

As his blood mixed with the bones in the ground
Frank Clearwater lifted his eyes
A crazy horse reared on its legs
And pawed at the clouds i4 the sky

For a man that lives with death all around
knows its own days are numbered and few
Frank Clearwater cried out with his voice
to be heard by me and you

His wife came running and tore at her hair
Tremblin' as she cried
To die on one's feet or live on one's knees
For this Frank Clearwater died

Wild coyotes howl in the night
All across the lone prarie'
Frank Clearwater was gathered away
By the wind that sweeps Wounded Knee

For a man that lives with death all around
Knows his own days are numbered and few
Frank Clearwater cried out with his voice
Who'll cry out for me and you.

30/5/2020 - 16:36


Thats my grandfather

Donald Hackathorn - 21/3/2022 - 05:28




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