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I'm walking in the Black Hills
In the midst of the ghost of the Sioux.
Feeling the pain of times long past,
Few that any of us knew.
I hear the crack of the rifles and
the yell of charging braves.
Who are hoping for a victory,
And for times of brighter days.
I see General Custer with his
long hair flying in the wind.
Followed by hundreds of troopers
Coming around the bend.
Their horses are running at full gallop,
The bugler is blowing,"CHARGE".
Everything seems so real,
But it is only a mirage.
I see Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull
and thousands of Indian braves.
Charging toward the 7th cavalry
who will all soon be dead.
People are dying right and left,
Soldiers and Indians too.
It is a sad day for mankind,
There are better things to do.
The battle rages on until Custer
and his men are all dead.
I guess the Indians won one,
at least that is what the history book said.
I hear the moan of a young trooper,
Lying on the ground to my right.
His last blood running from him,
It is such a sad sight.
There is nothing more sorrowful,
than a battlefield covered with the
dying and the dead.
Is anyone to blame?
Was it how the leaders led?
I'm sure there are many who know
what I'm trying to say.
Who have experienced a battlefield of somekind,
somewhere along life's way.
So I'm walking in the Black Hills,
In the midst of the ghost of the Sioux.
Feeling the pain of times long past,
Few that any of us knew.
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