He was born inside just a white family
learnin what is wanted of him.
But playing with friends, when the roles were split,
he redskin rather than whiteskin.

What’s there inside?
Behind the times?
Surely by mistake it’s letter his fate:
Indian soul, but wrapped in white skin.

When he came of age he soon left his
place and thus he found his people’s large praise.
War paintings on face, colored feathers on head,
and riding mustangs with his tribesmen.

What’s there inside?
Behind the times?
Surely by mistake it’s letter his fate:
Indian soul, but wrapped in white skin.

But isn’t gold that shines
and there he saw he was also strange.
He was always himself, continuously contradiction.
He was a man of two hearts.

He would have been happy hunting buffalo on prairies,
but looks them quietly at the zoo.
He would have been glad living free in a tipi,
but he makes camping in his room.

What was inside... he couldn’t show?
Behind the times... in ancient worlds.
Surely by mistake it’s letter his fate:
Indian soul, wrapped in white skin.
Indian soul, wrapped in white skin.
Indian soul, wrapped in white skin.