performed in the character of Big Kenneth
I bought this headdress from the Glebe Markets and I wasn't sure what drew me to it, but I did some research into Native American culture and the, the struggles from some of the things I've been experiencing in my own life, so I think it was a serendipitous purchase, and, well, I've written this piece and I'd like to have some spare percussive accompaninment, if I could.
The Chief stands
One brave man as a figure of leadership in his community
And he knows not where the eagle flies
He knows not where the dragon lies
He has no Westfield, he has no Coles
He must hunt the food and forge the bowls
He steers the rivers and he stays the course
He gives thanks for every part of the horse
And through it all, with blood-stained skin
He bathes in the rivers to cleanse his sin
His face is weary, worn and wise
A thousand generations of men in his eyes.
His feet are tired, and there's a blister
He has respect for his brothers *and* sisters.
He cuddles wolves and runs with the breeze
He lives a hard life, with relative ease
Before you criticise and judge
Look around at all the sludge
We're wrong to scorn his wiser ways
We've lost the beauty of those days
I spit on stores and bakery bread
If only I could hunt my food instead
If only we could be more like them
They were better people back then.
So down with Westfield, this fascist regime
We should all be like the chief..
That is my dream.