Red dust rising on a gravel track
The shadow of a pack of stray dogs follows
Tall rocks of blue and grey, a constant watchful eye
Though bound, the current land in these current times
Allows the spirit to speak
English will always be the second language
As long as we hold the land
Where our drumbeats and songs always begin
Ancestors find ease in the rows of stone
They continue to whisper their names
Our stories echo their resilient yells
Though I don’t drum and there is no dance in my feet
I hold the echoes of the Eastern Shoshone in my soul
My heritage will return to be rooted deep in the ground
And like the prairie rose, it will continue
To push through the red dirt
For in rivers, the kwitsunaippeh
The essence of life continues to flow.