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Sand Creek Song In eastern Colorado where the cruelest wind can blow, it blew its meanest streak one hundred some odd years ago. Whining through the Cheyenne’s camp shared with the Arapaho; November now will bring a tear to anyone who knows. Aaah, can you here them cry those dear children we made die? Oooh, hear it in the wind that won’t forget the white man’s sin. John Chivington was the colonel of this militia gone insane. He’d fought in Glorietta Pass and was ready for a brand new game. With seven-hundred volunteers and a howitzer in tow; the sunrise was the start of this ungodly horror show. Black Kettle lay a sleeping with a white flag over him. He’d sued for peace so many times despite the things we did. We took back promised hunting grounds so his people could not eat then made him camp on the barren land known only as Sand Creek. Ieee can you hear their whine, slightly west of the Kansas line; aaay the defiled don’t rest can you feel it in your breast? Colonel Chivington was ready to fight his brave brass buttons shined, his horse was champing at the bit knowing it was almost time. Then charging into lodges with his silver saber drawn. The murderous spree had started it was minutes after dawn. Chaos and confusion ruled as the natives woke that day; died if they stayed, died if they fought, died if they ran away. Herded to a stream bed where they dug holes with their hands; it’s hard to live, easy to die on this diseased piece of land. Oooh can you hear the ghosts crying from their restless hosts? Haaa what a wrong was done in the light of the rising sun. Colonel John brought up the howitzer to bombard the river bed; his men and he would never stop until each red lay dead. Sometime after ten’o’clock the village moved no more. The mayhem that’d now been done even God could not restore. Black Kettle’s wife was wounded by the gallant Chivington; while the Chief somehow had slipped away to sue for peace again. Exactly four years later a dog named Custer did the same, Black Kettles death on the Washiti adds to our history’s shame. Ieee can you feel their fright at the end of their final night; haaa maybe we forgot, what the white mans greed has wrought? The Colonel and his boys weren’t done; oh no quite far from that. Rolling up sleeves they got to work, no time for small chitchat. Women and children were mutilated in the most horrendous way. When John was questioned later he said “I saw none of that, that day.” Black Kettles starving village was filled with mostly young and old; all weak from steady hunger, all slowed from winters cold. We waged war on women, children, and some warriors past their prime then left their butchered body’s souls blowing in the winds of time. Yiii hear the mothers moan died so far from their native home. Ieee sanctify the land stained in blood by the Colonels hand. |
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