Slip the glove upon my hand nfor the ants to soothe the pain nof something else.nThe stings are fading in, not striking me as same, nbut Indian...nnBeen rubbing salt in sores nto wash away the heat. nIs it Indian?nAnd as my eyes begin to cloud nI acknowledge I've been beat. nOr Indian....nnAre we riding the chance nor slipping down the drain in the end?nAre my roots to save me now? nWill I prevail somehow? nI'm Indian...nnI firmly do believe there will come a change indeed in the end. nThe pain will flicker by, it shall turn away and die in the end.nnThough I'm no pedigree nI won't fall down to my knees. nI'm Indian.nnAnd we are riding the change, nnot slipping down the drain in the end.nAnd my roots must save us now nwhen I prevail somehow. nI'm Indian.nnAs the Frantic Cowboy dies his friends around him cry, nMy God! It's the Indians!nAs the Fickle Fairy cheers, shouting, no more tears, you're Indian.n