There are no footprints here; no signs of man,
nothing to taint the history.
There are no footprints here; no campfire rings,
I stand atop its' mystery.

There's an apricot that floods the sky
and winds that mock and jest.
An eagle dives to snare the orb
that's setting in the west.
I hear whispers of Elders passed
and know I'm not alone,
but as I stand against the breeze
there's nothing here but stone.

There are no footprints here; no signs of man,
no trace of those who came before.
There are no footprints here; no bison bones,
there's just the Eagle as he soars.

With eyes closed shut and opened mind
I call upon the winds,
to pardon me from wrongs I've done
and free me of my sins.
I feel the heavy shadows lift
and carry me away
to other times and other lives
that haunt me still today.

There are no footprints here; no signs of man,
no crossed altars to pray upon.
There are no footprints here; the hand of Gods
have built this church that I stand on.

There are no footprints here
but I am not alone -
 

this rocky mountain is Their throne.