Sun Kil Moon - Lost Verses

There is no quiet place in your cities, no place to hear the leaves of Spring or the rustle of insects wings...

The Indians prefer the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, the smell of the wind itself cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with pinon, pine.

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath-the animals, the trees, the man.
Like a man who has been dying for many days, a man in your city is numb to the stench.

Chief Seattle
1790-1866