I turn my head to see the people
The chariot of my soul swings low
My breath stops as the wind blows around me
And I survey the land of the lost

My ears catch the cries of dying men
Sun scorches faces lined by grief
Fists pounding cups of ice
Each blow tallying the human cost

Tears fall on hot pavement
Heat rising from the ground hides angels'wings
We sit in this hell together and contemplate
The bride of Christ we are preparing

The wheels turn mercilessly
I turn my head wearily toward the homeless children
Playing in the filthy street, trying to find happiness in its hungry dust

I've seen this place before.
The old souls line up and jostle for the chance
To see what's become of their world
In the middle of this heat, so cold

Ice castles and flyers, festive graveyard
No one knows where the bones of the great chief lie
They are walking on his grave, drinking his blood with ever glass of stolen wine


And the people of the wind are dying in the sun
My chariot fades and my feet touch the earth
Another nameless face signifying a pointless life.
But I still hear the call of the mission bells


Looking out over the plains to the mountains
How far the soul might fly, but the white man's prisons
Block out tge sky and kill our dreams.

Our souls are like wingless gulls
Digging through the refuse of the earth
Our feathers darkened by the disdain of the privileged
Eyes seared by the invincible sun


I feel the eyes of an old man raining tears
Weeping for lost dreams and lost souls
We are such stuff as dreams are made on,
Said the bard,

And for this man the journey is closing
But the mission remains
The ghost notes of a ghost bell
Sending its unearthly call to arms
To any who hear.

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The Wikipedia entry on measles is a lie. Of course measles was going around but the actual scandal occurred when an unknown party allegedly poisoned the Whitman supplies with strychnine.

Speaking of poisons & the white man's prisons, College Place plans on building a multi million dollar high security psych facility (Comprehensive MH), which I am concerned is way too corporate, medication-centric, prison-like, expensive, and may even drive private practice physicians & therapists out of business.

6 million dollars could have bought years of therapy of all kinds for hundreds of people in the Walla Walla Valle, yet the masonic construction pigs and big pharma take all.

Phuck pharma. /end