The Hills are Burning
January 29, 2007
The hills are burning,
And the children are scared,
From everywhere looms the terror.
The hills have blown up,
Red flame and red blood,
Have touched every hearts.
The hills have spat,
Souls of men and angers,
Rage has won and men have screamed.
The hills are empty,
And as the wind sings,
The smells are reminding us,
Of the fragility of the human.
The hills have burned,
Friendship have been threatened,
Tomahawks have been raised,
And muskets have roared.
What was it about time past,
About treaty, about hope.
We need to pick up the thread,
The beads, the feathers,
The buckskins and the furs.
Your blood my friend,
Made us brother.
Your blood my friend,
Spend on the burning hills,
And in my vein,
Your blood my friend,
Is the seed of peace,
The seed of wind,
The seed of hope.
The hills have taken back their color,
The new trees are surrounded,
By children running free,
Wearing shoes or moccasins,
Running and smiling,
In the new hills of the new colors.
Your blood my friend,
My brother,
Linked to mine, beyond the hills
Of fire and of anger,
Always.