You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life,
has a spirit,
has a name
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew,
you never knew
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or else the green in Buckhead, white green?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
And with all the colors
of the wind?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth
Come roam in all the reaches all around you
And for once never wonder what they're worth
The rainstorm and the river
are my brothers The heron and the other
are my friends
And we are all connected to each
other
In a circle,
in a hope that never ends
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
How high does the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down,
then you'll never know
And you'll never know
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or else the real white or copper skin
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain
Need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the earth and still
All you want is earth and till You can
paint with all the colors of the wind