Fifty miles from Dakota territory   Cheyenne scalp hangs from his belt   Found him alone washing in the Big Horn   Steady aim and he bagged his game      Pale sun falls without contest   Here is obedient darkness   He will not return      White Cadillac, white man at the wheel   White faces on the mountain   Wounds that will never heal   Black clouds overhead, old man says looks like rain   Thieves' Road winds to the Black Hills sign   Says, South Dakota, USA      Grass plains stretch to the horizon   Not a soul can be found on them   They will not return      Old rusted pickup and a mad dog in the yard   Purple paint peels but fails to reveal   The bitterness that grows inside   Cloud of dust in the distance   Strange knock beneath my hood   Is it better to have words left unsaid   Than to have words misunderstood      Pale sun falls without contest   Here is obedient darkness   It will return   I know it will return   It will return