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| Land Of The Navajo (Peter Rowan) Oh, the wind blows cold On the trail of the buffalo Oh, the wind blows cold In the land of the Navajo In the land of the Navajo A hundred miles from nowhere out on the desert sand One-eyed Jack, the trader, held some torquoise in his hand By his side sat Running Elk, his long-time Indian friend He vowed that he would stay by Jack until the bitter end Jack had gambled everything he owned to lead this wandering life He might have had a happy home and a tender loving wife But his hunger was for trading trapper's furs for torquoise stone Anything that the Indians had, Jack wanted for his own Said Jack to Running Elk, I'll gamble all my precious stones Before I leave my body here among these bleaching bones But now my time is drawing near and I'm filled with dark regret My spirit longs to journey as the sun begins to set For we raped and killed, we stole your land, we ruled with guns and knives Fed whiskey to your warriors while we stole away your wives Said Running Elk, what's done is done, you white men rule this land So lay the cards face up and play your last broken-hearted hand When you're dealing cards with death, the joker's wild, the ace is high Jack bid the Mississippi River, Running Elk raised him the sky Jack saw him with the sun and moon and upped him with the stars Running Elk bet the Rocky Mountains, Jupiter, and Mars The sun was sinking in the west when Jack drew the ace of spades Running Elk just rolled his eyes, he smiled and passed away Jack picked up his torquoise stones and cast them to the sky He stared into the setting sun and then made a mournful cry |