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'Broken Pottery'

    Native American Song

I hath no dream that I can see

there’s nothing left for me to be

I am a flower in the sand

there is no shadow from my hand.
You search for something in my face
you want to learn about my race
there's nothing left for you to see
a world of broken pottery
    Run through the hills,
    Search on the plains,
    They're gone.
    Over the fields,
    Nothing remains.
    All gone.
    Hide in the hills,
    Die on the plains,
    They're gone!