The Ghost of the Assiniboine


It's a tough question you pose to me
Sittin' 'cross the table-cup of coffee in your hand
The wounds seem deep, make the blood run cold
Look at the horizon-see what's happenin' to the land

Used to be you could 'scape to the dirt backroads
Put the civilized behind-look up, breathe free
Then the trucks appeared and the ruts ran deep
Now the air is dust-covers life as it used to be

Some say it's progress and I suppose it could be
Extracting Earth's bounty-the old ways die
The fast-paced disregard tries nature's soul
The north wind howls, and the cedars cry

But it's not the first time we've attacked the land
Granddad broke the sod-sowed to earn the coin
We long lost the wild but it's not for us I grieve
No, I grieve for the ghost of the Assiniboine

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