The Ballad of Ira Hayes Peter La Farge - rec. by Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, Kinky Friedman, Townes Van Zandt Come and gather ‘round me people and a story I’d like to tell About a brave young Indian that you should remember well From the tribe of Peema Indians, a proud and a peaceful band That farmed the Phoenix valley down in Arizona land Down are ditches, for 10.000 years the sparklin’ water rushed Till the White man stole the water rights and the runnin’ waters hushed Now Ira’s folks were hungry, on their farms grew crops of weed But when the war came he volunteered and forgot the White man’s greed    Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won’t answer anymore    Not the whiskey drinking Indian or the marine who went to war They started up at Peema hill, 250 men And only 27 lived to walk back down that hill again When the fight was over an ol’ Gloria raised One of the men who’s hold high was the Indian Ira Hayes Now Ira returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land He was wined and speeched in honor, ev’rybody shook his hand But he was just a Peema Indian, no money, no crops, no chance And at whole nobody cared what Ira’d done and when did the Indians dance Then Ira started drinking hard and jail was often his home The living raised the flag there and lowered it like a dog a bone He died drunkenly one morning alone in a land he’d fought to save Two inches of water in a lonely was the grave for Ira Hayes   Yes, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is still as dry   And his ghost is living thirsty in the ditch where Ira died   alles-uke.de