All the Indians Gathered

Side to side Lined back to back Outside the church. All the Indians Gathered at Bethebera in Birdtown.

This will be the last one I hear some people pray. The last time us Indians will Mourn a child lost to drugs and drink . . . and I hear a whisper . . . I hear a whisper Please not another make us lay To rest before their mother, their father; Before their dreams are realized, So young, so young.

Side to side Lined back to back Gathered at Bethebera in Birdtown. So tired of standing, tired of standing. The legs of the people gathered are hurting; The strain of our loss Wearing upon our hearts. Should we bring lawn chairs to these funerals? Keep them in our trunks for convenience? Or is it inappropriate to want to lie, to rest? While crying, while crying And some don’t cry, they don’t cry.

Side to side Lined back to back Gathered at Bethebera in Birdtown Waiting to view the child who left this world. People say she’s gone To a better place, a better place Where nothing is needed To soothe her pain, soothe her pain. The singers begin to sing inside Indian songs, Christian hymns And most cannot join; Their voices lost, their voices lost. Yelling inside themselves, Screaming inside But not out loud. Not another child! Not another child!

We should not bury our children for this. Order casket sprays, Sprinkle dirt as our child is lowered Into the ground, into the ground. And we are left with too few memories; For she was with us for just a short while And we will mourn, we will mourn, or we will not. Either will bring us pain.

Side to side Lined back to back All the Indians gathered Outside the church At Bethebera in Birdtown

Side to side Lined back to back All the Indians gathered

Side to side Lined back to back All the Indians gathered.