Contaminate Your Bed And You

The Indian Prefers The Soft Sound Of The Wind Darting Over The Face Of The Pond, The Smell Of The Wind Itself Cleansed By A Midday Rain, Or Scented With Pinon Pine. The Air Is Precious To The Red Man, For All Things Are The Same Breath - The Animals, The Trees, The Man.

When The Earth Is Sick, The Animals Will Begin To Disappear, When That Happens, The Warriors Of The Rainbow Will Come To Save Them.

There Is No Quiet Place In The White Man's Cities. No Place To Hear The Unfurling Of Leaves In Spring, Or The Rustle Of An Insect's Wings. But Perhaps It Is Because I Am A Savage And Do Not Understand. The Clatter Only Seems To Insult The Ears.

Like A Man Who Has Been Dying For Many Days, A Man In Your City Is Numb To The Stench.

The Earth Does Not Belong To Man, Man Belongs To The Earth. All Things Are Connected Like The Blood That Unites Us All. Man Did Not Weave The Web Of Life, He Is Merely A Strand In It. Whatever He Does To The Web, He Does To Himself.