Indian Rain

<br>I feel as if I have been buried alive<br>For the best part of five hundred years<br>My body encased in a mountain of waste<br>Until one day my face reappears<br>**** bends with the years that it spends<br>In positions tormenting my soul<br>But now they are free to emancipate me<br>From the celibacy of the soul<br><br><br>So turn in your grave<br>Hold back the incoming rain <br><br>**** wind in my face like the linen and lace<br>Are surrounding **** like ****<br>Fresh air in my lungs **** sharing his songs<br>**** through the grass<br>New blood in my veins like Red Indian rain<br>Stripping us of all shame we possess<br>With tears in my eyes (and with anguish) I cry:<br>&quot;I was free all the time, I confess!&quot;