(Wayne Mackenzie)"Not another protest song about our pitiful past," I hear you cry. Well hopefully, there's adifferent slant to this one. Anyway, you can make your own mind up on that one.Familiar coastlines to unfriendly shoresHome was home, no not anymoreKingdom of Summer, written in stoneYour brothers and lovers crossed the ocean aloneClearance of land, that was their birthrightMoving through hell that and highrightsReluctant journey out of the sunWhatever became of your country's sonsNo turning back, not one to run awayFighting more than the elements they sayAcross to the new, cast from the oldWhat laid before them, what they were toldA brave new world, theirs for the takingOne more clearance of the land in the makingStrike out for the West, bounty, land and libertyTo die in the new, for the old it was easyTo the native tongues, it was Indian summersRaped on the land, covered with bannersStarts and stripes over bullets and bloodChased from the Nations, 'cross Rio Grande mudTwo hundred years past, covered wagons goneTaken their place in what progress has borneOf native tongues, old worlds pushed asideRoadside reservations, small wonder little pride