Thunder rolls across the lone prairie

As a sea of brown gallops across the land

The thousands of these great and mighty behemoths

Are now, soon to this sad day, destined to be no more

None shall roam the once untamed grasslands anymore

Killed senselessly for their hides and for sport

And these magnificent gentle giants shall but be a memory.


Beautiful are the natives, whom thunder upon the lonesome prairie

Undaunted by the numerous obstacles that meet their heavy path

Fate has thus dealt them a frightening hand to their lively freedom

Few have they become because of the white man’s foolish pride

Arrogance seeded their dark hearts as they slaughter the hundreds

Lamentations are uttered by the original American nation to no avail

Only to fall upon the trampled grass which these blessed giants existed