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For those who don't believe in
the possibility,
Of Utopia, Camelot or anything free,
Swing on around or to this place go,
Stroll along walk with me back to Chilocco.
We were Indian children really,
Still we were given the right to walk freely,
Away from the houses of racial hate,
Respected we were as much as at any rate.
We stood to learn there was a way,
Even if it seemed only for just a day,
All at once to know life,
And hope protected from strife.
You can call it Camelot,
Or utopia, sentence and a dot,
But for us we knew it was Chilocco,
Ask any from the beginning, they know.
There were hard times we admit,
Sometimes, homesick, lonely a bit.
Each of us had our own demons to bare,
One for this or for that care.
We stayed, maybe because we knew,
Out in that big world what could we do?
Without this guidance giving us a chance,
Not just for Flaming Arrow and the dance.
Debate goes on about Utopia,
Is it possible? Do we know?
I'm here to lightly smile,
I lived there for a while. |
