Born here, mate, to Indian & European blood. We did not make the rules that we follow (while grieving), we did not steal the Black Hills, we did not poison the blankets..or the pills, we did not bomb the people in the valleys from the hills, but, yes sir, we do live amidst all of it and do not revolt. For that, my soul is pain, my heart is in my hands, I rip at your blind-as-a-cave as you & I rip at my blind-as-a-cave ..& the ocean waves, saline tears, of all those torrid years, in the hands of the PigMan & his sick fuckin henchmen who should.. feel (FEEEEEEL!!!)

Don’t you toil for me, matey, sup the day as I do away and again the sordid details do not amend

(WE love y', mICK, you've been a friend.)