O, Sacajawea;
Your rugged complexion,
Yet tender membranes
Coax me to lose my inherent gumption.
Am I not a red coat, or simply painted as such?
O, Sacajawea;
You find purpose in the prairie.
Squeezing the teat of a buffalo.
O, Sacajawea,
Might I know the totem that lies
on the banks of Saskatchewan?
Will the signals, oh will the signs
Undo the shackles of this mead?
O, Sacajawea,
Is it not simply red dead redemption?
Or am I wasting my time at the gate of El Presidio
O, Sacajewea,
Hast brother Jonathan not dreamed
of this sacred blanketed land?
Your veil, although elusive
Deludes but the weak.
We live not in a world,
But in what we perceive.
O, Sacajawea,
From your fairest face,
Your lushest bosom,
To your cracked heels
and worked arms.
O, Sacajawea,
Your gait and stride
Knows not but a thousand peaks.
Preach, O worthy
What we were destined
to learn.
Show man not your valour,
But instead the light
As you are far from guilty as sin.
O, Sacajawea,
For I love you so that I tell you so;
Flee, flee Sacajawea,
Sprint your buffalo
Sprint your bison
Sprint your men
and Sprint your younglings
For the axe shall fall.
O, Sacajawea,
Show me composure
show me salt
show me light
For I have cut ties with
this Ocean of Apathy.
