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We've Been Together On This Earth Before - Steve Young

We've been together on this earth before
Down in New Mexico
With the red of the skin
We were Indian
That was a long time ago
We stood and gazed at the moon like this
Stood here loving the stars
We swam the rivers in the forest below
Before the coming of the cars
Well we had the rains
And we had the winds
Our lands they knew no ends
We were satisfied to live and to die
In the ways of the Indian
Ah but gone are the ways that we used to know
Gone is the peace of old
Now all is out on a frantic road
In search of the vanishing gold
We are born white men now
We must do what we can
Even though the suffer the land
Perhaps there is something we can do on this earth
Come and I'll take your end
For dimmed are the stars
That we used to know
The rivers they run unclean
The earth cries out, but she is not heard
Except in the Indian dream
Ah may the hills of your life
Not be too steep
May the old ways not run too deep
May the season's of your youth
Be as graceful as then
When we were brothers of the wind
My son, my son
I'm glad you're born
For we rode together as one
We were free back then, we were men back then
When we were the Indian

文本歌词

We've Been Together On This Earth Before - Steve YoungWe've been together on this earth beforeDown in New MexicoWith the red of the skinWe were IndianThat was a long time agoWe stood and gazed at the moon like thisStood here loving the starsWe swam the rivers in the forest belowBefore the coming of the carsWell we had the rainsAnd we had the windsOur lands they knew no endsWe were satisfied to live and to dieIn the ways of the IndianAh but gone are the ways that we used to knowGone is the peace of oldNow all is out on a frantic roadIn search of the vanishing goldWe are born white men nowWe must do what we canEven though the suffer the landPerhaps there is something we can do on this earthCome and I'll take your endFor dimmed are the starsThat we used to knowThe rivers they run uncleanThe earth cries out, but she is not heardExcept in the Indian dreamAh may the hills of your lifeNot be too steepMay the old ways not run too deepMay the season's of your youthBe as graceful as thenWhen we were brothers of the windMy son, my sonI'm glad you're bornFor we rode together as oneWe were free back then, we were men back thenWhen we were the Indian

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