[Verse 1] I fasted by the river where the cottonwoods groan, Drums like heartbeats counting breath and bone. In a circle of dust I saw a vision clear— Soldiers falling like grasshoppers, drawn near. I am Tatanka Iyotake, thunder in my chest, Keeper of a people who refuse to be a guest. Wind carried warnings through the sweetgrass loam, You call it conquest—I called it home. [Chorus] You call it history, I call it home, Names on your pages, blood in our loam. You draw the borders, we walk the stone, You call it history—I call it home. [Verse 2] After Little Bighorn, winter bit the plain, Ash in the fire, iron in the rain. We crossed the Medicine Line to kinder cold, Where the stars still spoke like the stories told. But hunger rides a long, unending trail, Even brave hearts bend when the children pale. So I turned my pony back through fields of foam— They called it surrender; I called it home. [Chorus] You call it history, I call it home, Ink in your ledgers, prayers in our loam. Count all the rifles, count every stone— You call it history—I call it home. [Verse 3] Under canvas lights where the brass bands cry, They paid me to wave at a stranger’s sky. “Enemy then, a friend on the show,” they’d grin— But a stage ain’t the prairie and applause ain’t kin. I tasted the coin, I carried the name, A mask for their comfort, a mirror for shame. When the lamps burned out and I rode alone, The night knew my language—the land, my home. [Bridge] Standing Rock morning, frost on the wire, Agents with papers, tempers like fire. Ghost Dance whispers, snow in the hair, I said hold your courage, breathe one prayer. A spark met powder where grief had grown— They called it an arrest; we called it home. [Final Chorus] You call it history, I call it home, Who writes the textbook? Who tends the loam? If truth is a drum, let the heartbeat drone— You call it history… I call it home. [Outro] When the wind turns north and the meadowlarks roam, Listen—the earth remembers. This was, and is, home.
