Folk Singers: Solitary Indian

She is a little girl lost behind a battered big-bellied guitar. Her dusky face, framed by a cascade of raven hair that spills across her shoulders and down to her waist, seems frozen in mournful repose. In a throaty voice edged with anguish, she sings some of the unlikeliest lyrics ever heard in a nightclub: But where in the history books is the tale Of genocide basic to this country's birth, Of the preachers who lied, How the Bill of Rights failed?

Then, with a shy hint of a smile, she says to the audience:...

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