As the water passes over the rock bed, so gentle and 
quiet,
You can hear their cries in the crashing water.
Bodies dashed against the rocks below where ghosts at 
the galls roam.
The blood stained soil, their ancestral forestÂ…
Where only trees now know of the horrors seen here.
Forgotten.
A nation left to weep, like spilling water over the 
falls.
The water passes over stone, falling so far below.
Split blood and splintered bone where cherokee ghosts 
roam.
Pale faces in the mist, demons who claim the mountains,
treading beneath looming cliff.
The cool, still air permeating your skin.
The rhythm of the water pounding the forest floor 
whispers to us with the voices of proud warriors 
overcome.
The treaty was broken, the land has been stolen.
THE FOREST IS HAUNTED.
Softly whispering in the dead airÂ…
The blood stained stones in the deepÂ…
Morosely contrasting against appalachian greenÂ…
Flows into the river, whisked awayÂ…vengeance was 
claimed on that day.
Bullets for every pale face.
The price owed could never be paid.
Sorrow fills the air where tribal souls sleep beneath 
the cliffs where ywahoo falls forever weeps...