Maroon - The Last Bison

We fled in raining ashes

Crawled through burning trees

Our welts and tattood lashes

Left among the cypress knees

Gold, a deep molasses

In up past our knees

Lure, the hope of freedom

Awaits our weary feet

Twelve days and many nights

Led by eternal light

Into her arms

Darkness to match our flight

Free from the black and white

Into her arms

In the bed of the gods of old

Rise up above the free

There’s cleansing fire flying

High above these hanging trees

Can’t rest our gaze from freedom

Herald the heron’s cry

We’re in the throes of living

Alive for the first time