I've been here before you were born.

I'll be here after you die.

It is foretold, this truth I hold.

Alas, I grow ever weary.

Your men burn our brothers,

Sisters, friends, and mothers.

When will your pillaging end.

Your ancestors respected us well,

Telling secrets to those who wouldn't tell,

As to them we were more than a friend.

But to you, we're a resource alone.

We aren't living to you,

Yet must have sins to atone.

Don't ignore the subtleties.

Hear our voices when the wind picks up in the east.

See our colors as you look out windows at feasts.

Feel our presence as you slaughter a helpless beast,

But know our ancestral power should never cease...

Or we shall take your final breath to bring peace.