Raging fire, sacred pyre, we call on the dead, seeking wise council and insight about our uncertain path, to stem the tide of our wrath and our fear, What land is left to us, but the kingdom of forgotten shadows, where only death and memory reside, where anger will eventually subside and we will become merely legend, Oh, Great Spirit, dance for us, within the realm of dreams, and awaken the screams of indignant ghost warriors, Call down from the spirit world a tribute of death to our foes and ease, forever, the burden of our woes and sorrow, For it seems we're destined to fight the savage white beast, for the right to live in peace, and so we might, eventually, cease all his theft and cruelty, Yet, as this path may lead to our demise, and we can see no other way, ancient spirits, we pray for a peaceful journey into the land of death where the bounty is great, Since time began, our noble and proud race has roamed these sacred lands, always free, always willing to share with the elk and the bear, unlike the greedy white horde, But, now our time is short, like the mighty buffalo of the plains,...so...it is best now to smoke as friends, sing our ghost songs, and choke back the many tears that await our people, We must take flight, by way of ancient prayers, on the wings of eagles, and dare the pale demons to follow, for there, in the midst of our phantom brethren, we will destroy, forever, the white devil.