Anthem of the Unchosen: Turn III (Remastered)

[Turn III: Sacred Noise]
[Interlude – Vanished in Plain Sight]
They vanish like smoke—
but not from memory.
Indigenous women,
Two-Spirit youth,
elders with stories
no one thought to write down.

Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women.
A hashtag,
when it should’ve been
a headline.

No Amber Alert.
No helicopters.
Just silence.
And search parties made of grandmothers.

Savanna Greywind.
Ashlynne Mike.
Kaysera Stops Pretty Places.
Where are the vigils
when the cheekbones are brown?
Where’s the outrage
when the last photo
is in regalia?

[Verse – For Cole]
And Cole Brings Plenty—
a gentle storm
who carried his name
like a promise.
Lakota son.
Actor.
Protector.
Human.

You said he was dangerous.
We say you were afraid—
of a Native man
with his head held high.

He vanished.
Then he was found.
But justice?
Still missing.

You had time for headlines.
Never made room
for truth.

[Bridge – We Are Not Missing]
We do not disappear.
We are taken.
We are silenced.

Not lost.
Stolen.
Not strayed.

Our spirits walk highways
and reservations.
Our names
outnumber the prayers said for us.

We are the drumbeat
you keep trying to drown
with convenience.

But the beat?
It still thunders.
And baby—
it’s marching back.

[Chorus – Rise of the Unchosen]
We are the unchosen.
The misnamed.
The misgendered.
The mistranslated.

The ones whose gods
weren’t carved into pews—
but danced in fields,
sang in smoke,
wept in wind.

We are hula.
We are bomba.
We are two-spirit steps
in the ashes of doctrine.

We are what you didn’t count.
And what you couldn’t cancel.

We don’t ask for a seat anymore.
We build our own damn circle.

[Outro – Sacred Noise]
You want peace?
Start with the names.
Not the ones in textbooks—
the ones in prayers,
in graveyards,
in dreams.

Start with the bones.
Start with the treaties.
Start with the languages
you mocked
until you needed them
to win a war.

We still speak.
Even whispered.
Even hunted.
Even when we’re asked
to spell it out twice
to be heard once.

We are the unchosen.
And we choose
ourselves
now.

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[Turn III: Sacred Noise] [Interlude – Vanished in Plain Sight] They vanish like smoke— but not from memory. Indigenous women, Two-Spirit youth, elders with stories no one thought to write down. Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. A hashtag, when it should’ve been a headline. No Amber Alert. No helicopters. Just silence. And search parties made of grandmothers. Savanna Greywind. Ashlynne Mike. Kaysera Stops Pretty Places. Where are the vigils when the cheekbones are brown? Where’s the outrage when the last photo is in regalia? [Verse – For Cole] And Cole Brings Plenty— a gentle storm who carried his name like a promise. Lakota son. Actor. Protector. Human. You said he was dangerous. We say you were afraid— of a Native man with his head held high. He vanished. Then he was found. But justice? Still missing. You had time for headlines. Never made room for truth. [Bridge – We Are Not Missing] We do not disappear. We are taken. We are silenced. Not lost. Stolen. Not strayed. Our spirits walk highways and reservations. Our names outnumber the prayers said for us. We are the drumbeat you keep trying to drown with convenience. But the beat? It still thunders. And baby— it’s marching back. [Chorus – Rise of the Unchosen] We are the unchosen. The misnamed. The misgendered. The mistranslated. The ones whose gods weren’t carved into pews— but danced in fields, sang in smoke, wept in wind. We are hula. We are bomba. We are two-spirit steps in the ashes of doctrine. We are what you didn’t count. And what you couldn’t cancel. We don’t ask for a seat anymore. We build our own damn circle. [Outro – Sacred Noise] You want peace? Start with the names. Not the ones in textbooks— the ones in prayers, in graveyards, in dreams. Start with the bones. Start with the treaties. Start with the languages you mocked until you needed them to win a war. We still speak. Even whispered. Even hunted. Even when we’re asked to spell it out twice to be heard once. We are the unchosen. And we choose ourselves now.

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