Watching the sunset from high the butte,
Fires ablaze, seeking refuge,
Finding strength and will through this
plastic haze, Calling their names, they
are with me still, the Old Ones
  This land, my ally,
Rock me in your valleys,
Deep into Maka Ina,
Hold me close in your bosom,
Within, there is no time.

Rock me,
Cradled in those hills,
This place that is found
Never leaves me... sacred ground.
Ancestors talking,
Dancing all around,
Cradled in the hills
That rock me still.

Standing tall...
The Eagle,
The bear,
Mother and
The race won there.
Take me high into your glory.

Tell of the ancient stories.
Peals of laughter, thunder, rain.
Let me trace your creviced pain.
I cry out at such defacing power...
Men without honor from you tower,
Placed there by a stranger's hand.
They are not a part of this, our land.

Still in silence, yet in strength so bold,
The stories continue to be told,
The ones that lie beneath stone image...
Real, walked on and still remain...
Not of mortal mens' hands made,
But of the rocks and cracks and caves,
Back to Mother, they live again,
In every plant and creature that remains.
  I go to seek my piece of mind...
I look to you and there I find
If it is not meant to be.

Rock me,
In those hills, gently,
Cradled in those hills.