The Last Cherokee

The Last Cherokee

Black Storm sings like Madman
moaning blues to the crest
of an orange harvest moon

Black Storm's haunting
full round sullen sound
mocks the intense lonliness
of long lost ghostly Loons
boldly straddling bare tops
of dead trees and empty teepees

Black Storm moans like a man gone mad
scattering hope dust into whirlwinds
and darkness into pitch black night
deep whirlpools of Oklahoma crude
and leaves from an old dead tree

Black Storm mourns
The mighty Tennessee

Black Storm mourns
The mighty Tennessee