GERONIMO (original long version) © Ron Burres
(note: This was inspired by the life of Geronimo, poetic license and imagination over factual events)
IN ARIZONA, DRY AND WIDE, AN APACHE DID RESIDE, HIS QUARRY WERE THE PIONEERS WHO PASSED
HE HATED WHITE MEN AND THEIR LAW, AND HE MURDERED ALL OF THEM HE SAW
HE THREATENED DEATH TO HIS TORMENTORS TO THE LAST THE CHIEFTAIN’S NAME YOU KNOW – GERONIMO
HE MADE PART OF HIS CLAN INTO AN OUTLAW BAND, THEY SWORE IN BLOOD THEY’D BE FOREVER FREE
THEY WOULD MURDER, ROB AND MAIM FOR THE WHITE MAN DID THE SAME
THEY WERE AS BAD AS ANY MAN COULD EVER BE, HE WAS ALWAYS ON THE GO – GERONIMO
THE ARMY TRAPPED HIM IN THE HILLS, WHERE HE’D MADE SO MANY KILLS
THEY STRIPPED HIS FEATHERS, BOUND HIS WRISTS UNTIL THEY BLED
THOUGH HIS BODY HAD BEEN CHAINED, HIS WILD SPIRIT STILL REMAINED
AND HIS EYES BURNED LIKE THE MADNESS IN HIS HEAD, IN HIM THE MENACE SEEMED TO GROW – GERONIMO
HE NEVER LAUGHED OR SMILED, HIS LOOK WAS FIERCE AND WILD
LIKE AN ANIMAL HE PACED WITH NERVOUS TREAD
FOR THEY COULD NOT CONTAIN HIS RAGE, WHEN THEY PUT HIM IN A CAGE
HIS SOUL ESCAPED THE INSTANT HE WAS DEAD, TO THE MOUNTAINS IT DID GO – GERONIMO
NOW – WHEN THE CLOUDS COME FROM THE WEST, THEY SLIDE ALONG THE MOUNTAINS CREST,
AND THE FORKED LIGHTNIING TURNS THE NIGHT INTO DAY
THEY ARE THE FLASHES FROM HIS EYES, A MORTAL TOUCHED, QUICKLY DIES
THIS IS HIS WARNING, NOT TO GET IN THE HIS WAY, HIS HEART IS HARD AND COLD – GERONIMO
THE ROLLING THUNDER THAT YOU HEAR, HIS HORSES HOOVES TELL DANGERS NEAR
AS HIS OUTLAW BAND RIDES THROUGH THE RAIN OF TEARS
THEIR FACES FORM AND FADE IN CLOUDED SKY, YOU CAN HEAR HIS VICTIMS’ SCREAM AND CRY
AS THE WIND ECHOES THEIR FEARS BACK THROUGH THE YEARS, HE NEVER LET A PRISONER GO – GERONIMO
AT NIGHT FROM PAINTED HILLS, THE SOUND OF DRUMS AND CHANTING SPILLS
HYPNOTIC BEAT, DRIVES DANCERS ON WITHOUT RESTRAINT
IT’S THE CHIEFTAIN AND HIS MEN ON SPIRIT WARPATH ONCE AGAIN
WITH FEATHERED HEADS AND BODIES SMEARED WITH PAINT, THEY’VE RETURNED FROM LONG AGO – GERONIMO
AFTER THE RITUALISTIC DANCE, WITH FACES FIXED IN STONY TRANCE
ON PHANTOM HORSES, THEY RIDE SWIFTLY OUT OF SIGHT
TO SEARCH THE HILLS FOR THOSE THEY HATE, THEY MUST GO – IT’S GETTING LATE
FOR SPIRIT WARRIORS HUNT ONLY THROUGH THE NIGHT, THEY CANNOT LET THEIR FACES SHOW – GERONIMO
SO, IF PERCHANCE ON QUIET NIGHTS, WHEN THE FAILING LIGHT IS RIGHT
AS EVENING SHADOWS RACE ACROSS THE DESERT FLOOR
REMEMBER, I AM OUT THERE TOO SEARCHING SILENTLY FOR YOU
THE GREAT SPIRIT BIDS ME KILL FOR EVERMORE
I AM THE APACHES’SOUL - GERONIMO
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