edward curtis was a preacher's son
from the waters of old minnesota
his father lived off the souls he'd won
but he died before making his quota
he left a civil war camera lens
a bible a hat and a paddle
his desperate family landed west
in that bright young town of seattle
now princess angeline was not her name
kikisoblu was chief si'ahl's daughter
she sat for photos a dollar per frame
and washed sheets for a shack by the water
such were her terms as she puffed cigarettes
and glowered for young mr. curtis
soon after she passed with a big catholic mass
and a face in the newspaper notice
it read the old ways are passing right before us
like a bottle and some laughing drunken chorus
as the old one dies
drink deeply from her eyes
through the bright and sober lense of edward curtis
so the princess made him famous
but she also made him think
of songs from ancient languages
that teetered on the brink
he couldn't save the people from a policy of crime
but their rituals and faces just might persevere through time
such became his focus with a camera and a backpack
to catch the hopi snake dance
and the sun dance of the blackfoot
the nez perce and the inuit
the mandan and the crow
he took ten-thousand pictures and everywhere he'd go
they'd sing the old ways are passing right before us
like a bottle and some laughing drunken chorus
as the old ones die
drink deeply from their eyes
through the bright and sober lense of edward curtis
j.p. morgan, upshaw, and teddy roosevelt
three important figures far as edward curtis felt
patrons and protectors came from power wielding men
the little bighorn indian was edward's dearest friend
upshaw was a native who had been to white man's college
conflicted by some eloquence some culture and some knowledge
he served as edward's confidant, interpreter, and guide
beaten by some sheriff in some jail cell he died
he sang the old ways are passing right before us
like a bottle and some laughing drunken chorus
as the old one dies
drink deeply from his eyes
through the bright and sober lense of edward curtis
he published twenty volumes on his promise he made good
but he never made a dime until he moved to hollywood
italians played the indians
producers wrote the songs
then one day the seattle times got his obituary wrong
they wrote the old ways are passing right before us
like a bottle and some laughing drunken chorus
as the old one dies
drink deeply from his eyes<
through the bright and sober lense of edward curtis
as the old ones die
drink deeply from their eyes