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Oh Lord — 
Let these fields forgive our names, 
For men and trees turn dust the same.

Raven circles where silence stays, 
Its shadow drifts through morning haze. 
Smoke still clings where the cannons burned, 
The ground keeps secrets, never learned.

The church bell sleeps, its voices gone, 
For certain time we stole its song. 
Sky turned gray, the children run, 
And went away from what we done.

These fields don’t cry, they don’t forgive, 
They bear our scars, but always heal. 
Those men now sleep where drums once rolled, 
Their names are whispers carved on stone.

Fields of silence, I walked alone, 
Ghosts and echoes follow me home. 
The same indians from yesterday,
Stand still on ridge I walked away
Fields of silence, should always sound, 
That men walked here, where God looked down.
The road don’t end, it just fades out, 
The weight of ghosts became too loud. 
Each step forward makes me think back, 
But still I march, no turning back.