Ira Hayes (Ballad of Ira Hayes) Songtext

von Peter La Farge

Ira Hayes,
Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Gather round me people and the story I will tell
About a brave young Indian you should remember well
From the tribe of Pima Indian
A proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land

Down the ditches for a thousand years
That sparklin' water rushed
'Till the white man stole the water rights
And the runnin' water hushed

Now Ira's folks were hungry
And their farm grew crops of weeds
But when war came he volunteered
And forgot the white man's greed

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Well they started up Iwo Jima hill,
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again

And when that fight was over
And Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Ira Hayes returned a hero
Celebrated through this land
He was wined and speeched and honored
And everybody shis hand

But he was just a Pima Indian
No water, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
And when did the Indians dance

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Then Ira started drinkin' hard
Jail often was his home
They'd let him raise the flag there and lower it
As you'd throw a dog a bone!

He died drunk early one mornin'
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch
Was a grave for Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war

Yes, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his lands they're still as dry
And his ghost it's a lyin' thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died