You ask who owns the past
And I say I do
Each stone axe you find
Was made to fit my hand
The painted Bison on the wall
Once roamed upon my land
I have prayed in every temple
Stood guard on every wall
I built each mighty empire
Was there to see them fall
I have served both high and mighty
A master and a slave
And fought in every battle
My name’s on every grave
I am the Rangatira
Custodian of this earth
And I am the Pakeha
Who sees another worth
But most of all I am a brother
Who shares his past with you
Who owns the past? you say
I tell you that we do.
Steve D
Aug 2013
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