We whites honor the "Hermitage"
And the man who once lived there -
But, that leader of our Nation
Was cruel, unjust, unfair -

He ordered the removal
Of the Cherokee from their land
And forced them on a trek
That the Devil must have planned -

One thousand miles of misery -
Of pain and suffering -
Because greed of the white man
Could not even wait till spring -

We should bow our heads in shame
Even unto this day
About "The Trail Of Tears"
And those who died along the way.

It was October, eighteen thirty-eight
When seven thousand troops in blue
Began the story of the "Trail"
Which, so sadly, is so true -

Jackson ordered General Scott
To rout the Indian from their home -
The "Center Of The World" they loved -
The only one they'd known -

The Braves working in the fields
Arrested, placed in a stockade -
Women and children dragged from home
In the bluecoats shameful raid -

Some were prodded with bayonets
When, they were deemed to move too slow
To where the Sky was their blanket
And the cold Earth, their pillow -

In one home a Babe had died
Sometime in the night before -
And women mourning, planning burial
Were cruelly herded out the door -

In another, a frail Mother -
Papoose on back and two in tow
Was told she must leave her home
Was told that she must go -

She uttered a quiet prayer -
Told the old family dog good-bye -
Then, her broken heart gave out
And she sank slowly down to die -

Chief Junaluska witnessed this -
Tears streaming down his face -
Said if he could have known this
It would have never taken place -

For, at the battle of Horse Shoe
With five hundred Warriors, his best -
Helped Andrew Jackson win that battle
And lay thirty-three Braves to rest -

And the Chief drove his tomahawk
Through a Creek Warrior's head
Who was about to kill Jackson -
But whose life was saved, instead -

Chief John Ross knew this story
And once sent Junaluska to plead -
Thinking Jackson would listen to
This Chief who did that deed -

But, Jackson was cold, indifferent
To the one he owed his life to
Said, "The Cherokee's fate is sealed -
There's nothing, I can do."

Washington, D.C. had decreed
They must be moved Westward -
And all their pleas and protests
To this day still go unheard.

On November, the seventeenth
Old Man Winter reared his head -
And freezing cold, sleet and snow
Littered that trail with the dead

On one night, at least twenty-two
Were released from their torment
To join that Great Spirit in the Sky
Where all good souls are sent -

Many humane, heroic stories
Were written 'long the way -
A monument, for one of them -
Still stands until this day -

It seems one noble woman
It was Chief Ross' wife -
Gave her blanket to a sick child
And in so doing, gave her life -

She is buried in an unmarked grave -
Dug shallow near the "Trail" -
Just one more tragic ending
In this tragic, shameful tale -

Mother Nature showed no mercy
Till they reached the end of the line
When that fateful journey ended
On March twenty-sixth, eighteen thirty-nine.

Each mile of this infamous "Trail"
Marks the graves of four who died -
Four thousand poor souls in all
Marks the shame we try to hide -

You still can hear them crying
Along "The Trail Of Tears"
If you listen with your heart
And not with just your ears.