Wind whistles through the corn on the prairie
She stands there all alone
Watching the eagle wheeling high on the air with
the kind of freedom that she would own

And she picks up her hoe
and walks into the morning
Dew on her toes, she sings to her corn
Everyone knows that she grows the sweetest
Sing to your corn Buffalo Birdwoman

Her eyes defiant as the sun in the noonday
but as giving as the moon and sea
Half her people never knew of their doomsday
the waste and slaughter that was Wounded Knee

She said “My land is changing but I will not change
White man’s farming has no heart and soul
You can take and take but what will it give you
not the sweetness that your looking for