Run For Freedom (For Kimberly Rose Means) Brothers and sisters ancestors are with us now We do carry sacred freedom to prison grounds Sing it loud Run for freedom Brothers and sisters brave and strong Run for freedom Out of the darkness will come the dawn We have suffered, convicted of crimes not done Locked behind walls by the laws of the white man’s gun That’s why we run Run for freedom Brothers and sisters brave and strong Run for freedom Out of the darkness will come the dawn Crazy Horse we remember the life you gave Crazy Horse through your courage we are not afraid To shout and say Run for freedom Brothers and sisters brave and strong Run for freedom Out of the darkness will come the dawn Eagle flies, soaring spirit on the run Sacrifice, offering prayers beneath the sun While the horses run Run for freedom Brothers and sisters brave and strong Run for freedom Out of the darkness will come the dawn When the wind whispers, we remember Kimberly Child of tomorrow, day of sorrow, tragedy But she believed in this Run for freedom Brothers and sisters brave and strong Run for freedom Out of the darkness will come the dawn Words & music by Larry Long With Youth & Elders on the Run For Freedom Copyright Larry Long 1981 / BMI

Grandma’s Penny Sale (Give a Prayer for the Farmer) Grandma was born and raised on a farm in Iowa. When I was young, she would pray for those who work the soil. Oldest one of seven kids. Helped her mom raise each of them. Shucking corn and slopping pigs, chickens in the yard. Fetching water from the well in two five-gallon pails. Carving out a well-worn trail to the kitchen door. Give a prayer tonight for the farmer. Give a word of thanks for their labor. Days of drought, sleet, and hail. Grandma would often tell me about the Penny Sale that saved the family farm. Friends and neighbors gathered round buyers who came from town. Peacefully they stripped them down naked in the barn. Upon a bale of hay they sat. Nothing on but their hats. I can still hear Grandma’ laugh, speaking of those times. Give a prayer tonight for the farmer. Give a word of thanks for their labor. Standing by the auction man. Taking bids on her land. Grandma looked down at her hands dryer than the soil. A penny here, a nickel there, celebration filled the air. Grandma’ raised her eyes in prayer. Thankful for that day. When the auctioneer was done. The country folk they had won. Without spilling any blood they saved the family farm. Give a prayer tonight for the farmer. Give a word of thanks for their labor. Yesterday I read the news about a family farmer, who was told that he might lose the title to his land. Just like this story told, neighbors came to his home, and stopped it from being sold with a ‘Penny Sale’. Give a prayer tonight for the farmer. Give a word of thanks for their labor. When I laid the paper down, thoughts of Grandma’ circled round. Filled me with that peaceful sound of her voice again. Give a prayer tonight for the farmer. Give a word of thanks for their labor. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

It Feels O.K. Does a bird go clickety-clack? Have you heard a monkey laugh? I don’t know. I’ve been moving too fast to take the time to enjoy. The beauty of someone new. To take a walk beneath the moon. Light shining out of you from way up there. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you, and it feels o.k. A butterfly; a flaming rose. Building dreams of clay and stone. I am yours to love and hold for a long, long time. Would you like to go to the zoo when the evening sky turns blue? Beneath the fire of the sun. Bringing us a brand-new day. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you, and it feels o.k. What was that? I don’t know. Up and down rainbow road. In your eyes I find a home. When I look at you there’s so much poetry, mystery, and fantasy. There’s so much to explore when I’m alone with you. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling in love with you, and it feels o.k. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

For You My Love The river rises. The river falls. Lockmaster stares down at the wall. Living without you ain’t no life at all. I’ll be there for you, my love. Captain is tired, blowing that horn. Fifteen barges loaded with corn Be it late in the evening, or early morn. I’ll be there for you, my love. Geese and the blackbirds are traveling south. Frost on the fields, summer of drought. When you are with, or when you’re without. I’ll be there for you, my love. Fog on the water. Fog on the land. Someone is calling, “Lend me a hand.” When you are unable, I’ll do what I can to be there for you, my love. I’m tied to the dock and don’t need no tow. Barges are empty. Got nowhere to go. When you’re in a hurry but traveling slow. I’ll be there for you, my love. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

Blue Highway Shadows dance on the rose. Traveling down this winding road. To return, going home along the Blue Highway. Along the Blue Highway, my friend. Along the Blue Highway To return, back again along the Blue Highway Source of life, gift of love. To the sea she must run. To return from above along the Blue Highway. Along the Blue Highway, my friend. Along the Blue Highway To return, back again along the Blue Highway Black and white, red and yellow. Blue above, green below. All are one within her flow along the Blue Highway. Along the Blue Highway, my friend. Along the Blue Highway. To return, back again along the Blue Highway. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

Sacred Black Hills Land of the pronghorn and buffalo. Land of Lakota, the Great Spirit roams. Land of beauty, peace, and good will. Land of the people these Sacred Black Hills. Land of our mother giver of life. Land of our fathers’ heavenly flight. Land of our children for them we build this camp in the valley of the Sacred Black Hills. Land of our elders’ ancestral home. Land, which is sacred, can never be sold. Land to defend with my life and I will rise like the thunder to defend the Black Hills. Land of cedar, aspen, and pine. Land of the eagle flying on high. Land of the pipe, medicine wheel. There’s a new day a-rising in the Sacred Black Hills. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

Anna Mae From the womb of Nova Scotia in the land of sunrise. Use to work building cars on the assembly line. When she heard a warrior speak of a better day to come. Quit her job, traveled west to the land of the setting sun. Survival schools she organized and gathered history. Cooking food, chopping wood for the elderly. When she left, she left behind two children, so young. Asking forgiveness from the Creator when the day was done. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. We can hear you spirit call. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. When the rain begins to fall. We can hear your spirit call. On the Trail of Broken Treaties Anna Mae took a stand. Building bunkers at Wounded Knee, defending sacred land. Slipping in, slipping out behind the lines with supplies late at night. Where the grandfather’s shielded her from the swat man’s gunsight, In the month of June in Oglala the FBI did come. On the very same day the BIA sold the land of the setting sun. In a firefight they killed Joe Stuntz. This is what they said, “Before the year is out Anna Mae we will see you dead.” Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae We can hear you spirit call. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae When the rain begins to fall. We can hear your spirit call. One hundred miles from the nearest town a body was found. With a turquoise bracelet on her wrist frozen to the ground. Standing by the FBI could not identify, the body of this woman, who they hauled in one too many times. They took the turquoise off her hand, cut them off at the wrist. Sent her hands to Washington, they said for fingerprints. The doctor said she was drunk, fell down and simply froze. So, the FBI buried her by the name Jane Doe. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. We can hear you spirit call. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. When the rain begins to fall. We can hear your spirit call. Homicide the people cried for their Anna Mae. Forcing the FBI to bring her from the grave. What they found was a bullet hole in the back of her head. While the FBI put one more notch in their gun for one more dead. An Oglala wind blew last night to the sound of the drum. Heard the voice of Anna Mae speaking in a Micmac tongue. There’s no force made by man that can stop the driving rain. When people fight for their land you will always find Anna Mae Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. We can hear you spirit call. Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae, Anna Mae. When the rain begins to fall. We can hear your spirit call. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1983; renewed 2023 | BMI

Michael I met Michael when he was thirteen. Thirteen years old one year ago today. When I was working where he was living. Teaching guitar to children all day. Michael taught me a song he had written. I taught Michael the song Anna Mae. Which reminded him of his people. Anishinaabe, Michael gives you praise. “The problem with Michael,” Counselors told me. “Is that Mike’s too big for his age.” Looking for attention, thrown in detention for turning his anger into rage. Michael taught me a song he had written. I taught Michael the song Anna Mae. Which reminded him of his people. Anishinaabe, Michael gives you praise. All of the teachers, all they would tell me was nothing but trouble that Mike would get in. He never listens. He’s always fighting, but me and Mike became real good friends. Michael taught me a song he had written. I taught Michael the song Anna Mae. Which reminded him of his people. Anishinaabe, Michael gives you praise. Like an explosion thoughts came flowing out of his heart and into his mind. Where Michael gathered fruits of anger. Out came a song in pretty good rhyme. Michael taught me a song he had written. I taught Michael the song Anna Mae. Which reminded him of his people. Anishinaabe, Michael gives you praise. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI

American Hymn Italy, Germany, Africa we come. Vietnam by sea and land into your arms we run. Refugees filled with dreams laying our burdens down. Upon your soil we have toiled from town to town. America, America God shed her grace on thee. Sisterhood, brotherhood. Someday, I do believe. From the mills of Pittsburgh Steel to the Iron Range. Way out west to the land of desert sage. Cowboy blues, mutton stew, California sun. To your ports we travel north got no place now left to run. America, America. God shed her grace on thee. Sisterhood, brotherhood. Someday, I do believe. Potawatomi, Sioux, Ojibwe, too. Hopi, Cheyenne, Navajo. Promises unfulfilled. Still driving them out of their home. Freedom, Oh Freedom. For whom, what does that mean? Like waves out on the ocean crossing the deep blue sea. America, America. God shed her grace on thee. Sisterhood, brotherhood. Today, I do believe. Words & music by Larry Long Copyright Larry Long Publishing 1982; renewed 2023 | BMI