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| The Hunt by � artnsolitude We dance the sacred fire tonight, the embers snap and fly, We beat the drum and smoke the pipe and raise our voices high, The shaman seeks a vision and the holy man will pray, We gather up our courage and we long for break of day, We sleep a lonely restless sleep, as dawn sets all aglow, We paint our faces as our hearts, our warrior spirits show, Our ponies share our paint and mark, the ancestors will know, The meaning of the circumstance, We hunt the buffalo! We gather up our lance and shield, our tomahawk and bow, And climbing on our ponies wild, we set our minds to go, Each of us, two hundred strong, await the warrior's cry, That marks the start of this glor-ious day, today our spirit's fly. The warrior's cry is given and we bound through stream and field, Where hidden in the valley dell, our prey remains concealed. The buffalo are grazing, we catch them unaware, Two hundred pair of gleaming eyes, of hungry, hopeful stares, All at once we charge the field, our bows and lances freed, And once again, the charging herd, the thundering stampede. If our prayers have all been answered and Creator's will be done, We'll end this day together and not lose a single one, For though we are the hunters, the hunted do not know, They turn and face our grim approach, to guard against a foe. -------------------------------------------------------- Young warrior races to the hunt, a cry upon his lips, He rides alone amid his fear, his bow and lance he grips, He looses arrow, arrow strikes, his mount is injured; still, He wounds the beast before he falls, but not enough to kill. His pinto's eyes are crazed with pain, her reddened nostrils flare, Her torso gored and bloody, her rider leaps with care, The warrior rolls and grabs his lance and stands before his mare, To guard her from the maddened charge of tons of horn and hair, He stands before his pony and he faces down the beast, With courage and with honor, he'll glory in the feast, His lance finds deadly purchase and the thund'ring spirit reaps, The blood and gore spills to the ground, his lance is buried deep. He screams his pride and courage now at any who will hear, So all will know he earned his name, and bravely faced his fear, Tonight the fires burn for him, in him they will rejoice, Tonight the fires burn for him, they burn for Crazy Horse. art |