^EmiOut in the desert where the wind never ^Gstops A ^Emifew simple people try to grow a few c^Grops ^CTrying to maintain a ^Ami7life and a h^Gome ^DOn land that was the^Cirs be^Ami7fore the Romans thought of ^GRome ^EmiA few dozen survivors, ragged but ^Gproud ^EmiWith a few woolly sheep, under gathering ^Gcloud ^CIt\''s never been easy, ^Ami7or free from st^Grife ^DBut the pulse of the ^Cland is ^Ami7the pulse of their ^Glife ^EmiYou thought it was over but it\''s just like be^Gfore ^DWill there never be an ^Cend to ^Ami7the Indian ^Gwars? ^EmiIt\''s not breech-loading rifles and wholesale ^Gslaughter ^EmiIt\''s kickbacks and thugs and diverted ^Gwater ^CTreaties get signed ^Ami7and the papers change ^Ghands ^DBut they might as well ^Cdraft these ^Ami7agreements in ^Gsand ^EmiNoble Savage on the cinema ^Gscreen ^EmiAn Indian\''s good when he cannot be ^Gseen ^CAnd the so-called white ^Ami7so-called ^Grace ^DDigs for it^Cself a pit ^Ami7of disgra^Gce ^EmiYou thought it was over but it\''s just like be^Gfore ^DWill there never be an ^Cend to^Ami7 the Indian ^Gwars?