colours of the wind

You think i am an ignorant savage,
and you've been so many places i guess it must be so,
but still i can not see,
if the savage one is me.
How can there be so much that you dont know?
you dont know.
you think you own whatever land you land on.
The earth's a dead thing for you to claim,
but i know every rock and tree and creature,
has a life, has a spirit, has a name.
You think the only peole are the people
who look and speak like you.
but if you walk the footsteps of a stranger,
you learn things you never knew you never knew.
have you ever heard wolf cry to a new born moon?
or ask a grinning bob-cat why he grins?

Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colours of the wind?
can you paint with all the coulours of the wind?

Come round the hidden pine trails of the forest,
come taste the sunsweet berries of the earth,
come roll in all the riches all around you,
and for once never wonder what they are worth.
The rainstorm and the rivers are my brothers,
the Heren and the Otter are my friends,
and we are all conected to eachother,
in a circle, in a loop that never ends.
how high does the sycamore grow?
if you cut it down you'll never know.
and we'll never hear the wolf cry to the new born moon,
or weather we are white or coloured skin,
need to paint wiht all the colours of the wind.
You can own the earth and still,
all you'll own is earth untill,
you can paint with all the colours of the wind.