Tribal Thunder
Posted: May 03, 2005 1:51pm
I wasn't made to sit behind a desk all day.
The cells of my ancestors echo through my soul,
Calling me to come hunt, to run, to lean into the wind.
I want to sit with my brothers
To sing, to feel the fire and the earth.
To drum and chant the songs of the land and seasons
I want to dig into the earth and plant seeds
To feel the wind and sun on my back.
My knife is dull and rusty
My digging stick is whittled down to a pencil
And the wildness stirs ever stronger
I hear the ancestors calling.
Come,
Let's dance again.
Bring your brothers,
Carry your father, for he longs to dance too.
The cells of my ancestors echo through my soul,
Calling me to come hunt, to run, to lean into the wind.
I want to sit with my brothers
To sing, to feel the fire and the earth.
To drum and chant the songs of the land and seasons
I want to dig into the earth and plant seeds
To feel the wind and sun on my back.
My knife is dull and rusty
My digging stick is whittled down to a pencil
And the wildness stirs ever stronger
I hear the ancestors calling.
Come,
Let's dance again.
Bring your brothers,
Carry your father, for he longs to dance too.
