For the wind cries of late
In the whispering grass.
Our way of life is held
In the spinning wheels of chance.
I believe in the ways of an older law
When we used to dance to a different drum
And we are changing are ways
Yes we are taking on different roads
Tell me more about the forest
That you once called home.
For the wind cries of late
In the whispering leaves
And the sun will turn to waste
The heavens we build above.
Father teach your children
To treat our mother well
If we give her back her diamonds
She will offer up her pearl.
But I'm not bitter no I'm surviving
To face the world, to raise the future.
So why don't you tell me, come on and tell me
About the world you left behind.
Come on and tell me.