©1987 Jack W. Gladstone

I wrote this song to juxtapose the traditional Blackfeet Indian relationship with the wolf, to the recent hostility toward the wolf. The modern West today is shaped most heavily by the latter, while it is my role to remind us of the former.

Wolf, you were free, you were hunting in the sun.
Long before man arrived, you were nature, you were young.
Then we came and survived, we were brothers side by side
In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago...

Wolf, you were seen by the fathers of our dream
And the hunt you engaged was the blueprint for our age.
Then we learned and we burned with desire to know more
In the dawn that was man’s they hunted o’er the plains
Still the wolf pack set the pace, when the fire was just a flame...

As plows turn the plains, we ranch on the range.
The bison are gone now, the wolf packs remain
In search of the killers of our sheep and our cattle herds.
The stockmen are helpless, they request our aid.
Protecting the rangelands, are we in our roles,
To kill thousands of bountiful wolves is our goal.

Wolf, where are you in the lower forty eight?
Once you ran through the woods of the eastern seaboard states!
Now you’re gone from the woods, from the mountains, from the plains;
They are filled with the still of a vanishing frontier
They are broken by the blade, killing all we once held dear...

Wolf, you were free, you were hunting in the sun.
Long before man arrived, you were nature, you were young.
Then we came and survived, we were brothers side by side
In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago

In the days of the arrow, in the days of the bow.
In the days of the spirit, not too long a time ago...