Run, Red man, Run!
Rejoice for your freedom,
For I have it not.
Your hair is the wind.
Your teeth and nails are rock.
Your skin, the clay from the earth!
I am steel framing,
Concrete, nuts, and bolts.
My hair is copper wiring.
I am Manufactured Man,
Pressed through cogs,
Strategically programmed for success.
I am nothing!

You bend the world around you
To fit your need.
For me, I am bent,
Conquered by my ignorance:
I rust in the rain,
While you grow from it.
How much I long to run with you!
But I am chained to my desk,
To radio, satellite, heating, and cooling,
To this God-forsaken computer!
You have nothing to your name,
But you seem content.
I have cars and a business suit,
Yet, I am incomplete.
I yearn to stand beside you
By the river side,
To listen to the sage eagle cry:
“Freedom, freedom!”