Out in the desert where the wind never stops A few simple people try to grow a few crops Trying to maintain a life and a home On land that was theirs before the Romans thought of Rome A few dozen survivors, ragged but proud With a few woolly sheep, under gathering cloud It's never been easy, or free from strife But the pulse of the land is the pulse of their life You thought it was over but it's just like before Will there never be an end to the Indian wars? It's not breech-loading rifles and wholesale slaughter It's kickbacks and thugs and diverted water Treaties get signed and the papers change hands But they might as well draft these agreements in sand Noble Savage on the cinema screen An Indian's good when he cannot be seen And the so-called white so-called race Digs for itself a pit of disgrace You thought it was over but it's just like before Will there never be an end to the Indian wars?