Letra de The Ballad of Ira Hayes (Bear's Sonic Journals: Live At The Carousel Ballroom, April 24 1968)
Ira Hayes, Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinking Indian Or the marine that went to warGather 'round me people There's a story I would tell About a brave young Indian That we should remember well From the tribe of the Pima Indian A proud and peaceful band Who farmed the Phoenix Valley In Arizona landDown the ditches for a thousand years The waters grew Ira's people's crops 'Til the white man stole their water rights And the sparkling water stopped Now, Ira's folks were hungry And their land grew crops of weeds And when war came, Ira volunteered Forgot the white man's greedCall him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinking Indian Or the marine that went to warThere they battled up Iwo Jima's hill Two hundred and fifty men But only twenty-seven lived To fight back down again And when that fight was over And when Old Glory raised Among the men who held it high Was the Indian, Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinking Indian Or the marine that went to warIra Hayes returned a hero Celebrated through the land He was wined and speeched and honored Everybody shook his hand But he was just a Pima Indian No water, no crop, no chance At home nobody cared what Ira'd done And when do the Indians danceThen Ira started drinking hard Jail was often his home There, they let him raise the flag and lower it Like you'd throw a dog a bone He died drunk early one morning Alone in the land he fought to save Two inches of water and a lonely ditch Was a grave for Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinking Indian Or the marine that went to warYeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes But his land is just as dry And his ghost is lying thirsty In the ditch where Ira died