Banneryear

A banner year 1864, don't
 like the red man anymore,
 can't have them taking up
 good land. Give them a
 token flag, trade pipes and
 shake some hands, tell them
 the white stripes stand for
 peace. Say if they raise red
 white and blue, bluecoats will
 never shoot at you, but stripes
 will lose their sheen. Black
 Kettle was their chief, he only
 wanted peace, under the
 flag... a massacre at Sand
 Creek.
 Wave your flag. Salivate.
 Stirring feelings of pride and
 hate. A peace of cloth can't
 hold your faith.
 No flag flies, no banner
 waves, see the empty pole
 above his empty grave. No
 one knows,
 where he lies, and no one
 knows why he had to die.
 A banner year 1868, a bitter
 end a twist of fate. Maps
 won't hold this melanoma,
 blurry part of Oklahoma,
 where Custer shot and killed
 Black Kettle.
 A promise is a promise, a
 judge of character. His
 banner over me is love.