This is a number which Bernie and I have just written, fresh off the presses, folks.
We wrote it when we went back after our last visit.
And Bernie had been to an Indian reservation, and he'd written a song about the Indians.
And we'd just done it. It's not been recorded or anything.
It's just about to be bootlegged, probably.
But never mind. There's a method in our madness, I tell you.
It's called Indian Sunset, and it's very long.
So if you'd like to go to the toilet now, you're quite welcome.
It's my note, you see.
As I awoke this evening with the smell of wood smoke clinging
Like a gentle cobweb hanging upon a painted teepee
Oh, I went to see my chieftain with my wall ants and my woman
For he told us that the yellow moon would very soon be leaving
Oh, this I can't believe I said
I won't believe our warlord's dead
Oh, he would not leave the chosen ones to the buzzards and the soldiers' guns
Oh, great father of the Iroquois, ever since I was young
I've read the writing of the smoke and breastfed on the sound of drums
I've learned to hurl a tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild
To run the gauntlet of the Sioux to make a chieftain's daughter mine
And now you ask that I should watch the red man's race be slowly crushed
What kind of words are these to hear from yellow dog whom white men feed?
piano
piano
I take only what is mine, Lord
My pony, my squaw, and my child
I can't stay to see you die
Along with my tribe's pride
I go to search for the yellow moon and the fathers of our sons
Where the red sun sinks and the hills of gold and the healing waters run
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Trembling down the prairie roads
Leaving hoof tracks in the sand
Those who wish to follow me
Are welcome with my hands
I heard from passing renegades
Geronimo was dead
He'd been laying down his weapons
When they filled him full of lead
piano
piano