Indian Chant Song

So, this was for History class, but I'm sort of proud of it, so I thought, since we've all died slow, painless, literary deaths, that I'd post this like some sort of pulse--like a sleeping bear during hibernation, whose heart only beats eight times a minute; its alive, but only just. We are a hibernating bear, at least ciber-speaking. This is to prove we are not dead. Yet.

Fire Demons

Like fire, came White Man
Like fire, came White Man
Like embers under White ashes
Came the White Man years ago

He came small and weak,
Like wind blow could him out
As we tried to blow him out
He only grew bigger

Now he is big,
And consumes everything
Like fire in the grass
Fire that does not spare

With Demon Fire
He burns even great stone.
Like angry thunder
He burns through mountains

He flies in Fire Demons
It screams and roars
On a trail of bones
That scars our lands

The Fire Demons bring him
In their bellies of smoke
Like the smoke in his pipe
That burns the sky

With Fire demons,
Come stranger White Men
From many different lands
They, too, were burned

But they do not flee the fire,
But become the fire
They burn as they were burned
And they will not be quenched

White Man spreads across the plains
Like fire in the wind
His spotted cows
Burn the ground they eat

The spotted cow,
As fiery as the Man
That chases them,
Consume the Buffalo grass

White Man must always eat to burn
So He kills every Buffalo,
Thunderous, he fires
And leaves to smolder

The Buffalo have fled
As they would great fire
And we now flee
As if from great fire

Now all is black
Charred and black
The White Man has nothing
More to burn

White Man is fire
We are the ashes
That are blown by wind
Away to new lands