Luyện nghe bài hát The Heart Of The Appaloosa

From the land of shooting to the peaks of the Coeur d'Alene
Thimbleberries in the forest, elk grazing on the
The People of the Coyote made camp along the streams
Of the Wallowa Valley when fences had no name.
And they a strain of horses, the treasure of the tribe
Who could on a ridge or gallop up a mountainside
Who could haul the hunter's burden, turn a stampede
The that wore the spotted coat was born with matchless speed.

Thunder Rolling in the
the People across the Great Divide
There's on the snow in the hills of Idaho
But the of the Appaloosa never died.
In the winter came the crowned ones near frozen in the
firearms and spyglasses and a book that saves the soul
The people gave them welcome, nursed till their strenght returned
And studied the talking paper, its to learn.
In the shadow of the mission up farms and squatter towns
The plain was lined with fences, the blade split the ground
In the shallows of the gold glittered in the pan
And the word would come from remove the Indian.

The chief to the People in his anger and his pain
"I am no more Chief Joseph. Rolling is my name.
condemn us to a wasteland of barren soil and stone
We shall fight them if we must, but we will another home."
They fled the Bitterroot, an army at their heels
They fought at White Bird Canyon, fought at Misery Hill
Till the colonel saw his and sent the order down
To kill the wherever it be found.

Twelve hundred miles retreating, three times the Divide
The horse their only safety, only ally
Three thousand Appaloosas perishod the tribe
The people and the horses side by side.
Thunder Rolling in the Mountains said, "my is sick and sad.
Our children now are freezing. The old are dead.
The take our spirit. Our wounds are deep and sore.
From where the sun now stands I shal no more."

They were sent to Oklahoma, ran rife
But died of broken hearts far from the land that gave them life
And the man called Joseph at death was heard to say
"We given up our horses. They have gone away."
But without warning from a dull domestic herd
A spotted horse of spirit will emerge
it is and fearless and nimble on a hill
Listening for thunder, the living still.