'Broken Pottery'

Native American Song

I have no dream that I can see

there’s nothing left for me to be

I am a flower in the sand

there is no shadow from my hand.

You search for something in my face

you want to learn about my race

there's nothing left for you to see

a world of broken pottery

Run through the hills,

Search on the plains,

They're gone.

Over the fields,

Nothing remains.

All gone.

Hide in the hills,

Die on the plains,

They're gone!

MUSIC - Broken Pottery

Colin Siequien © 2007

Inspired by images in a Texas Museum