Play a Symphony for all the birds that fly and,
all the trees spreading boughs to the sky.
Play a Symphony for fallen colors by
the autumn winds that have come once again.

	You can play it if you try, 
	add your part if you might
	Few have heart enough to try. Oh why
	does the city pull your spirit down from flight?

Hear the Symphony and softly fallen scree that,
rolls in rhythm with the roar of the streams.
Hear the Symphony that, drops her harmonies in,
pools that glisten with the sun’s growing gleam.

	You can stay here if you like.
	I will hold you through the night.
	Together we shall be the melody line, 
	Leading our Symphony through time

Love is simply a two-part Symphony where,
we can join and be blended as one.
Birds and boughing trees make background harmonies while,
The colors change around our mountains and streams.

	You can stay here, if you like.
	We’ll partake in lovers rites.
	Together we shall be the melody line.
	Leading our Symphony through time.

	Leading our Symphony through time.

On the journey that we climb
To the summit of the mountain we do find
There are heroes, there are fools
There are builders ever reaching for their tools
 	With their tools, they build the walls
 	That stand solid, fresh and tall
 	You know, building is a risky thing to do
 	When the work you perform outlasts you
 
 		Through the romance, through the dance
 		Over rolling plains of troubled circumstance
 		Into the journey, we are born
 		Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
 		And may your dreams form a love that survives you
 
We remember your warm grin
And the trickster that would make us smile again
You built bridges, you built walls
But now, we find you’ve built your spirit in us all
 	Through the joy and through the pain
 	Through the loving, through the rain
 	Sometimes rainbow colors aren’t easy to see
 	How you forgive and how you love is the key
 
 		Through the romance, through the dance
 		Over rolling seas that challenge circumstance
 		Into the journey, we are born
 		Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
 		And may your dreams form a love that survives you
 
 		Through the romance, through the dance
 		Over rolling plains of troubled circumstance
 		Through the journey, we are born
 		Always keep your dreams alive over the storm
 		And may your dreams form a love that survives you.
 
 			Children carry the love... 
 
 			That survives you.

From the stars a Bright Path came
Leaving behind an infant boy
O’er the waves of the plains
An Indian son did rise
	From the clan of Black Hawk 
	Who survived the U.S. wrath
	They stole the sparkle from his spirit
	Will they give it back
	To Bright Path?

Seasons turned the boy to man
Races run and rivers swam
Footprints in his father’s pace
Through thirty mile days
	In the hunt or in the chase
	Of horses on the range
	Swift and sure, so strong and pure
	They beamed across the plains
	On a Bright Path
 
 		A young heart forged by a native sun
 		Would depart into a world unknown
 		School loomed supreme when the buffalo were gone
 		So across the empty prairies he did go
 		His father said, He said, 
 			“Son, you are a Black Hawk
 			Now, go and show the world what you can do.
 			Go now and show the world what you can do.”

From the hills of Pennsylvania,
Carlisle beckoned to the tribes
Offering an education 
so they could survive
	Jim Thorpe emerged from Bright Path’s shadow
	Leaving home behind
	With his legs and toe he ferried
	Pigskins cross the line
	On a Bright Path
 
On the battle fields of college
Powerhouses came to play
Penn State, Syracuse and Army
There among the fray
	Pop Warner led his Carlisle Redmen
	Through the foes before
	Through his line with flashing thunder
	”Katie bar the door”
	For Bright Path
 
 		When the Earth’s call came for Olympians
 		Jim stood tall, proud to be chosen.
 		The ten-event gold medal was placed upon his chest
 		Our anthem played and U.S. flag unfurled
 		Sweden’s king said, He said, 
 			“Sir, you are the greatest.
 			Yes, you’re the greatest athlete in the world.
 			You are the greatest athlete in the world.”
 
Back in school, with fluid passion
One more season still to play
Jim and Pop’s inspired Redskins
Blew their foes away
	When the gridiron wars were settled,
	Carlisle whipped ‘em all
	Number one in the whole nation
	By the end of fall
	Was Bright Path!

		Like a cold blade laid on a beating heart
 		Gloom settled in and then tore apart
 		When news disclosed a teenage Jim was paid in summer leagues
 		They demanded back the medals he received
 		The letter read:     From the AAU it said:
 			“We regret that we allowed Jim Thorpe to compete.
 			We must erase the record of his feats.
 			Yes, we’ll erase the record of his feat.”
 
(Musical interlude)

As a twin sport Pro he traveled
A superstar in perfect grace
Pro football’s first star and founder
Baseball’s happy face
	With the century half over
	A.P. took the vote
	The greatest gridder and best athlete
	It wasn’t even close
	Was Bright Path
 
 		In ’53 Jim’s path joined a brighter sky
 		To the stars he returned as his body died
 		Thirty winters later, justice swung in toil
 		It troubled those whose consciences were soiled.
 		His name restored...
 
 		By 1984 in the summer games in Los Angeles,
 		Jim Thorpe's medals were restored to his family,
 		and his records were restored to the books.
 
From the stars a Bright Path came
Leaving behind an infant boy
O’er the waves of the plains
An Indian son did rise
	From the clan of Black Hawk
	Who survived the U.S. wrath
	They stole the sparkle from his spirit
	Finally gave it back
	To Bright Path!
	To Bright Path!
 
 	To Bright Path!

From the corner of the universe, my soul has found a pen,
For I believe this story must be told again.
Not by some historian, not by some bleeding heart
But by the man who saw the web of justice spun apart.
 
In the year of eighteen sixty-three, according to their Lord,
The treaty signers split our country for the coming horde.
With swarms of hungry settlers, the miners built the towns.
They started laying claim to where my people’s bones were found.
 	Ollikot and I intently listened to the words
 	That rolled firm and strong across our father’s tongue,
 	“Never sell the bones of your parents or your home.
 	Our home is where the Winding Waters run.”
 
The one-armed General met with us. He told us we must leave.
Too-hool-hool-sote, the elder chief firmly disagreed.
When I spoke, I told the circle, no one else but me
Can sell my horses or my land, and I will never cede.”
 	“The Great Spirit blessed my people with this holy land
 	The Winding Waters are our only home.”
 	Howard rose and spoke in terms that shadowed our great war,
 	Demanding we be gone “In thirty days, no more!”
 
 		We didn’t want to fight.
 		We didn’t want to die.
 		We wanted to be free again 
 		Beneath Our Mother’s Sky.

The young men’s hearts were angry, when soldiers first attacked.
At White Bird Creek, we killed their charge and drove the army back.
With families and stock all packed, we journeyed to the east.
Looking Glass assured us there, they’d let us live in peace. 
 	When our sleeping camp beside the Big Hole was surprised,
 	Soldiers’ volleys rained from their surround.
 	Our young men rose in fury and returned a deadly fire,
 	Soon to pin that White Chief Gibbon down.

 		Fathers ran to fight 
 		and mothers fought to die
 		To see their children free again 
 		Beneath Another Sky.
 
Lean Elk almost died that morning from a wound received
But his flesh and voice arose, pushing us to leave.
Before dawn till after dusk, we drove without a home
Through a half moon of pursuit, we wove to Yellowstone. 
 	With Howard near, Black Hair shared the vision of his dream
 	Our young men crept upon their tired sleep.
 	Shadows of the starlight struck and drove their stock away
 	Turning mounted men to infantry.
 
 		We didn’t want to fight.
 		We didn’t want to die.
 		We wanted to be free again
 		Beneath Another Sky.
 
From the Yellowstone, we turned, up to the sky beneath.
Sitting Bull had led his band to stand beyond their reach.
Our friend, the Crow, had turned against us, brotherhood betrayed.
Autumn chill descended as our plans again were laid.
 	A fresh White Chief attacked, then through my brother’s plan,
 	Were made to look like fools while we escaped.
 	With Canada ahead and three armies far behind,
 	At last we felt our families were safe.
 
 		We didn’t want to fight
 		We didn’t want to die
 		We wanted to be free again
 		Beneath King George’s sky

The end arrived with hooves of thunder charging from the east.
Hope descended with the moon as we prepared to leave.
Bear Coat Miles’ many rifles spoke through flesh again
Through the lines, to Sitting Bull, a messenger was sent.
 	Biting snow began to blow as men began to die.
 	The will to live and suffering increased.
 	Our chiefs were cut to few, my brother taken, too,
 	Then, to my ears there reached new words of peace.
 
 		We didn’t want to fight.
 		We didn’t want to die.
 		We wanted to be free again
 		Beneath Another Sky.
 
With peace declared, Miles promised we could return home
To the valleys that our parents long before had roamed.
I believed, I gave my gun. We would start again
With the little we had left, by the hope within.
 	Now I know their promises amount to words alone.
 	We’re removed, our homeland overrun.
 	All I ask is that our people be allowed our home,
 	The land through which the Winding Waters run.
 
 		We didn’t want to fight.
 		We didn’t want to die,
 		We wanted to be free again
 		Beneath our Mother's Sky
 
 		We didn’t want to fight.
 		We didn’t want to die,
 		We wanted to be free again
 		Beneath our Mother's Sky
 
 		Eternally, we’re free again
 
 		Within our Mother’s sky.

In a bottomless sea of timeless space
In the center of a trillion stars
There’s a circle from which we all have come
That reflects who we are
From this circle we hear her seasons sing 
in four scene harmony
And from this song we know her love 
in all the Earth receives

	From the snow pack in the highlands
	Her blood flows with the Spring
	Forever the Sun’s lover
	A songbird choir sings

		She’s the Circle of Life
		She’s the womb of the Sun’s creation
		She’s his forever wife
		She’s a harvest of every nation
		She’s the Mother of every life born
		Through each day and each night
		With the Father she gave the Earth form
		She’s the Circle of Life

In our paths of time we share the sky
With those upon the wing
And with those living ‘neath the waves
Whose motion is unseen
All life around stems from the green
In green all life abounds
We step her dance and speak her song
When each season sounds

	From the snow pack in the highlands
	Her blood flows with the Spring
	Forever the Sun’s lover
	A gray wolf choir sings

		She’s the Circle of Life
		She’s the womb of the Sun’s creation
		She’s his forever wife
		She’s a harvest of every nation
		She’s the Mother of every life born
		Through each day and each night
		With the Father she gave the Earth form
		She’s the Circle of Life

		She’s the Circle of Life
		She’s the Circle of Life

		She’s the Circle of Life

I know you know what I’m a’feelin’
Words tumble short to say
You know I know time is a’stealin’
Will time climb our way?
 
 	What is the proper way to express what can’t be seen?
 	For our senses grasp only a glimpse of the mystery between
 	Therefore, I’m resigned to weave my way 
 	through the forest of word lore
  		Dyin’ for a Metaphor
     		Dyin’ for a Metaphor
 
People straining in pure sunlight, 
black and white perceived.
Forget about the color gray.
Lawyers training, prepare to fight, right is their own way
 
  	What are the changes that the child within goes through?
  	Does the spirit or material reflect your point of view?
  	Lost, we weave our way through mall-faced stores
  	In the neon of word lore.
  		Dyin’ for a Metaphor
 
Mountain dancer in the moonlight 
close your eyes and dream
Step into another day, 
our adventure begins tonight. Cast your loom my way.
 
 	Through all the changes that our inner child goes through
 	May your love reflect the spiritual into your point of view
 	Drifting hearts have longed to wash ashore
 	Through the currents of word lore
 		Dyin’ for a Metaphor
 
 	Explore the metaphor to inspect what can’t be seen
 	‘Cause our senses grasp only a glimpse of the mystery between
 	That’s why we’re designed to weave our way
 	Through the forest of word lore
 		Dyin’ for a Metaphor
 
 		Cry'n for a Metaphor
  			Try'n for a Metaphor
       				I'm Dyin' for a Metaphor

The Owl and the Eagle are Chiefs of the skyline
Wisdom and Vision are yours
The Owl’s seen the forest grow long before humans
Walked down the ice corridors
	To the land now perceived as America
	To the gifts of a God-given sun
	With the eye of an eagle, we see the tomorrow
	And a thousand years yet to come...

The eagle is nesting up high and away from
All that can damage its young
The eaglet is resting, soon to be testing
A wingset to fly in the sun
	Through the sky now perceived as American
	Over mountains and rivers and plains
	Through the heart of the cultures preceding Columbus
	When legends were passed through the flame...

	Of Wisdom and Vision

		We now stand on a crown of the Triple Divide
		Where the waters run down to three seas
		We are commonly close to the shadowy axe
		That lumbers across history
		Like the Owl and the Eagle 
		we are the people
		with vision and wisdom to share
		May the strength of our caring 
		and source of our love
		help the world become more aware...
		Of Wisdom and Vision

The Owl and the Eagle are Chiefs of the skyline
Wisdom and Vision are yours
The owl’s seen the forest grow long before Humans
walked down the ice corridors

They've both seen this country grow long before Humans
walked down the ice corridors...

Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
	There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
	Through the valley of our old St. Mary
	You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
	And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
	Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

Speak to me Grandma, stories blossom in you
Speak to me Grandma legend blended with truth.
	And your words brushed a portrait for us
	In the Valley of our old St. Mary
	Your eyes were the light for us
	When our bodies couldn’t carry us beyond...
	Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

		You felt the buffalo go
		You heard the stagecoach roll
		You saw booming Altyn rise and fall
		You rode your pony upon 
		Moccasin Flat at century’s dawn
		The trails became roads 
		and the roads became old...
		We listened to the stories that you told.

		You wed a man from the north
		Then ten fine children came forth
		Alex still is your groom.
		You were the center of us.
		Still in our valley we trust
		The vision of St. Mary 
		appeared upon the lake
		And leaves me in this fast-closing wake.

Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
	There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
	Through the valley of our old St. Mary
	You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
	And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
	Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

	There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
	Through the valley of our old St. Mary
	You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
	And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
	Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

	No I really can’t believe
	It’s so hard to imagine.

	I really don’t believe that you’re gone.

The snow came early and lay on deep
The cold blown bitter made the women weep
Our men tracked hard but could find no game
In our children’s bellies were cryin’ pains
	Our elders gathered in the eve and dawn
	They prayed and waited and looked
	But, little did they know that way up high
	The Bear Had Stole the Chinook.

A ragged orphan boy living alone
Called to the animals in his home
Owl and Magpie flew on in
With Coyote and Weasel, there were four of them
	As their council met, the Magpie “cawed”
	As our heroes shivered and shook
	He said, “my relatives told me so”,
	He said, “The Bear Has Stole the Chinook.”

		Our heroes’ journey to release the wind
		Turned west to the mountain bear’s den
		Four days they teamed and traveled along
		Together they did ascend…
		Up to the den that held the Chinook.

The Grizzly snored and snarled in his sleep
Owl crept close, into his lodge peeped
Bear punched Owl’s eyes with a stick
So they sent in a brother who was lightning quick.
	The weasel slithered easy through the hole,
	And found the elk skin bag of the crook
	The bear, enraged roared, “Go Away!” (and said)
	“I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!”

		Then our friends made medicine smoke appear
		And blew it in the Grizzly Bear’s den

		The big ol’ Griz fell fast asleep
		As Coyote crept on in.

		He found the bag where the wind was kept
		And pulled it to the light of day
		There a Prairie Chicken picked the stitches out
		Then the Chinook blew on its way
		The Chinook blew on its way.

The Bear burst suddenly from his sleep  Grrrrr!
Our friends all fled, their job complete
The Bear, in vain, pursued the wind
But, the warm wind never was again his friend.
	Now Bear sleeps underground the winter long
	In his lodge he grumbles and looks
	Back to the days of the winter warmth
	To the Bear Who Stole the Chinook
	To the Bear Who Stole the Chinook
	I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!

	I’m the Bear Who Stole the Chinook!

Grrrrr!  Grrrrr!

I was born to a working class family
At the fringe of the city down by the sea
Father chiseled our name in stone
Working on The Roman Road

In the distant past, we battled their legions
Wilderness kept us free
Freedom withered in the face of
The freezin’ winter of the refugee

	We didn’t like livin’ under their reign
	We swore the Sun would rise for us again
	We learned to think in a cross blood way
	Workin’ on The Roman Road
	Workin’ on The Roman Road

The Circus Maximus would cheer and sing
As the wave rolls ‘round the ring
Players clash, we forget the tax
Blood upon The Roman Road

		I can still hear Grandma’s voice
		Echoing her morning prayer
		Our old men seem to have no choice
		Stuck in the ruts to the who knows where
		On The Roman Road
   		On The Roman Road

I must escape from this Roman freeway
Inner state of my mind
'Cause they are we and we are they
Trottin’ down the Interstate line

		I can still hear Grandma’s voice
		Echoing her morning prayer
		Our old men seem to have no choice
		Stuck in the ruts to the who knows where
		On The Roman Road
   		On The Roman Road

		On The Roman Road...