Indian Giver

So you got caught with your red hand
Pitching freedom from a stolen land
Broken treaties and broken trails
Broken tongues and I'll tell no tales

So let's bury the hatchet in the Black Hills
The kind that's push and push until it breaks your will
The kind that's take and take and then I'll take some more
The kind that drills its face into your very core

I said freedom is in the eye you see
And Mt. Rushmore is looking down on me

So you packed up your wagons and you headed out
Planting potatoes and flags in the native ground
You said the West would fall under any day
You said that Six Grandfathers would not stand in your way

And now we're living in the shadow of such noble men
Those slave-driving genociding European kin
They like to take what don't belong to them
What don't belong to any man

I said freedom is in the eye you see
And Mt. Rushmore is looking down on me

Boombox

Looking back on all those times when we were hand in hand
Toe to toe, we were good to go with no lines drawn in the sand
Like on the beach we were chin deep in the Gulf of Mexico
I thought I'd always see your face there bobbing to and fro

But I can't hold on to anything long enough to see it through
And of all the ones that slipped through my fingers the hardest to hold was you

But that was back in another century, back when we were young
That was the time when I'd hear your voice if the telephone had rung

But I can't hold on to anything long enough to see it through
And of all the ones that slipped through my fingers the hardest to hold was you

You won't find me on your front lawn boombox in the air
Soon the day will come about when you won't find me anywhere