My poetically hart is full with sadness
Because I’m staring at the world with poor eyes
Thinking and thinking, about should it be nice
As an old Belgium stranger I want to write
To show you that what we think it could be be right
But people they don’t want it, they want to fight
Believe me that I’ am deeply, so deeply hurt
Because I can’t save the world by my own words
I feel just like an inarticulate bird
Money and money makes the world go around
But my native soil is still my birthday ground
In like manner what my Forefathers found
So I ask you to be honestly and wise
Don’t give me de this poetry price twice
In memory of al those Indians on ice