(Wayne Mackenzie) "Not another protest song about our pitiful past," I hear you cry. Well hopefull y, there's a different slant to this one. Anyway, you can make your own mind up on that one. Familiar coastlines to unfriendly shores Home was home, no not anymore Kingdom of Summer, written in stone Your brothers and lovers crossed the ocean alone Clearance of land, that was their birthright Moving through hell that and highrights Reluctant journey out of the sun Whatever became of your country's sons No turning back, not one to run away Fighting more than the elements they say Across to the new, cast from the old What laid before them, what they were told A brave new world, theirs for the taking One more clearance of the land in the making Strike out for the West, bounty, land and liberty To die in the new, for the old it was easy To the native tongues, it was Indian summers Raped on the land, covered with banners Starts and stripes over bullets and blood Chased from the Nations, 'cross Rio Grande mud Two hundred years past, covered wagons gone Taken their place in what progress has borne Of native tongues, old worlds pushed aside Roadside reservations, small wonder little pride
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