Eighteen years of American dream, He saw that his brother had sworn on the wall. He hung up his eyelids and ran down the hall, His mother had told him a trip was a fall, And don't mention babies at all. Did you see him, did you see him? Did you see him in the river? He were there to wave to you. Could you tell that the empty quivered, brown skinned Indian on the banks that were crowded and narrow, held a broken arrow?
The streets were lined for the wedding parade, The Queen wore the white gloves, the county of song, The black covered caisson her horses had drawn protected her King from the sun rays of dawn. They married for peace and were gone. Did you see them, did you see them? Did you see them in the river? They were there to wave to you. Could you tell that the empty quivered, brown skinned Indian on the banks that were crowded and narrow, held a broken arrow?
