Текст песни Indian Sunset (Remastered 2016) - Elton John
                                                As 
                                                    I 
                                                awoke 
                                                this 
                                                evening
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                the 
                                                smell 
                                                of 
                                                woodsmoke 
                                                clinging
 
                                    
                                
                                                Like 
                                                    a 
                                                gentle 
                                                cobweb 
                                                hanging
 
                                    
                                
                                                Upon 
                                                    a 
                                                painted 
                                                tepee
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                    I 
                                                went 
                                                to 
                                                see 
                                                my 
                                                chieftain
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                my 
                                                warlance 
                                                and 
                                                my 
                                                woman
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                he 
                                                told 
                                                us 
                                                that 
                                                the 
                                                yellow 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                Would 
                                                very 
                                                soon 
                                                be 
                                                leaving
 
                                    
                                
                                                This 
                                                    I 
                                                can't 
                                                believe 
                                                    I 
                                                said
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                can't 
                                                believe 
                                                our 
                                                warlord's 
                                                dead
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                he 
                                                would 
                                                not 
                                                leave 
                                                the 
                                                chosen 
                                                ones
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                the 
                                                buzzards 
                                                and 
                                                the 
                                                soldiers' 
                                                guns
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh, 
                                                great 
                                                father 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                Iroquois
 
                                    
                                
                                                Ever 
                                                since 
                                                    I 
                                                was 
                                                young
 
                                    
                                
                                                I've 
                                                read 
                                                the 
                                                writing 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                smoke
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                breastfed 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                sound 
                                                of 
                                                drums
 
                                    
                                
                                                I've 
                                                learned 
                                                to 
                                                hurl 
                                                the 
                                                tomahawk
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                ride 
                                                    a 
                                                painted 
                                                pony 
                                                wild
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                run 
                                                the 
                                                gauntlet 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                Sioux
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                make 
                                                    a 
                                                chieftain's 
                                                daughter 
                                                mine
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                now 
                                                you 
                                                ask 
                                                that 
                                                    I 
                                                should 
                                                watch
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                red 
                                                man's 
                                                race 
                                                be 
                                                slowly 
                                                crushed?
 
                                    
                                
                                                What 
                                                kind 
                                                of 
                                                words 
                                                are 
                                                these 
                                                to 
                                                hear
 
                                    
                                
                                                From 
                                                Yellow 
                                                Dog, 
                                                whom 
                                                white 
                                                man 
                                                fears?
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                take 
                                                only 
                                                what 
                                                is 
                                                mine, 
                                                Lord
 
                                    
                                
                                                My 
                                                pony, 
                                                my 
                                                squaw, 
                                                and 
                                                my 
                                                child
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                can't 
                                                stay 
                                                to 
                                                see 
                                                you 
                                                die
 
                                    
                                
                                                Along 
                                                with 
                                                my 
                                                tribe's 
                                                pride
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                go 
                                                to 
                                                search 
                                                for 
                                                the 
                                                yellow 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                fathers 
                                                of 
                                                our 
                                                sons
 
                                    
                                
                                                Where 
                                                the 
                                                red 
                                                sun 
                                                sinks 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                hills 
                                                of 
                                                gold
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                healing 
                                                waters 
                                                run
 
                                    
                                
                                                Trampling 
                                                down 
                                                the 
                                                prairie 
                                                rose
 
                                    
                                
                                                Leaving 
                                                hoof 
                                                tracks 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                sand
 
                                    
                                
                                                Those 
                                                who 
                                                wish 
                                                to 
                                                follow 
                                                me
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                welcome 
                                                with 
                                                my 
                                                hands
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                heard 
                                                from 
                                                passing 
                                                renegades
 
                                    
                                
                                                Geronimo 
                                                was 
                                                dead
 
                                    
                                
                                                He'd 
                                                been 
                                                laying 
                                                down 
                                                his 
                                                weapons
 
                                    
                                
                                                When 
                                                they 
                                                filled 
                                                him 
                                                full 
                                                of 
                                                lead
 
                                    
                                
                                                Now 
                                                there 
                                                seems 
                                                no 
                                                reason 
                                                why
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                should 
                                                carry 
                                                on
 
                                    
                                
                                                In 
                                                this 
                                                land 
                                                that 
                                                once 
                                                was 
                                                my 
                                                land
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                can't 
                                                find 
                                                    a 
                                                home
 
                                    
                                
                                                It's 
                                                lonely 
                                                and 
                                                it's 
                                                quiet
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                horse 
                                                soldiers 
                                                are 
                                                coming
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                think 
                                                it's 
                                                time 
                                                    I 
                                                strung 
                                                my 
                                                bow
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                ceased 
                                                my 
                                                senseless 
                                                running
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                soon 
                                                I'll 
                                                find 
                                                the 
                                                yellow 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                Along 
                                                with 
                                                my 
                                                loved 
                                                ones
 
                                    
                                
                                                Where 
                                                the 
                                                buffaloes 
                                                graze 
                                                in 
                                                clover 
                                                fields
 
                                    
                                
                                                Without 
                                                the 
                                                sound 
                                                of 
                                                guns
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                the 
                                                red 
                                                sun 
                                                sinks 
                                                at 
                                                last
 
                                    
                                
                                                Into 
                                                the 
                                                hills 
                                                of 
                                                gold
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                peace 
                                                to 
                                                this 
                                                young 
                                                warrior
 
                                    
                                
                                                Comes 
                                                with 
                                                    a 
                                                bullet 
                                                hole
 
                                    
                                 
                            1 Tiny Dancer (Remastered 2016)
2 Levon (Remastered 2016)
3 Razor Face (Remastered 2016)
4 Madman Across The Water (Remastered 2016)
5 Indian Sunset (Remastered 2016)
6 Holiday Inn (Remastered 2016)
7 Rotten Peaches (Remastered 2016)
8 All The Nasties (Remastered 2016)
9 Goodbye (Remastered 2016)
10 Indian Sunset (Live Radio Broadcast / Including Spoken Intro / Remastered 2016)
11 Madman Across The Water (feat. Mick Ronson)
12 Rock Me When He's Gone
13 Levon (Mono Single Version)
14 Razor Face (Extended Version)
15 Madman Across The Water (Piano Demo / 1970)
16 Tiny Dancer (Piano Demo)
17 Levon (Piano Demo)
18 Razor Face (Piano Demo)
19 Madman Across The Water (Piano Demo / 1971)
20 Indian Sunset (Piano Demo)
21 Holiday Inn (Piano Demo)
22 Rotten Peaches (Piano Demo)
23 All The Nasties (Piano Demo)
24 Goodbye (Piano Demo)
25 Rock Me When He's Gone (Piano Demo)
26 Rock Me When He's Gone (Full Version)
27 Tiny Dancer (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
28 Rotten Peaches (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
29 Razor Face (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
30 Holiday Inn (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
31 Indian Sunset (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
32 Levon (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
33 Madman Across The Water (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
34 Goodbye (BBC Sounds For Saturday / 29th April 1972)
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