Nuna dual tsyuni

I walked along the path, my red feet beat and bruised.
But still I did continue, and forward did we move.
The white man wants our home, for profit and for change.
And it became the trail of tears, cherokee nation never be the same.
I clenched the hand of my brother, and the dead soul of my mother.
She died of disease from europe and the walk, as did many others.
I didn't know where we were going, but we left our memories behind.
But that had been our home, for a very long, long time.
How far will we have to go? I hope there's no gold on our new land.
Because the white man will move us again, and I may hold another dead hand.
They call it "nuna dual tsyuni", the trail where we cried.
white man say we're safe, but white man always lie.
So we keep moving, and they keep dying.
The shadows keep looming, and we're still crying.
Our new land may be good, but then...
maybe they'll need more land, and move us again.