Where are my roots?

IRON EYES CODY found his place,
safe among the human race,
I see dots on a biology chart,
you tell me about the ancient cart.

Your canoe swims far and wide,
with prideful screams for WOUNDED KNEE,
I can't find my CELTIC DREAMS,
lost in the seams,
to ENGLISH SLAUGHTER,
and you get hotter dancing with wolves,
and I am left wondering,
slumbering,
lost to history.

You have stories and songs,
your homes are full of blood dried past,
and at last you speak your tome,
all alone,
I am left with,
"where are my roots?"

Your museum of steel and bright,
the light shines on a myriad of books,
looks,
the authors fight to be seen,
known,
for history's LOST ONES,
but I'm still in the shadows,
waiting,
wondering,
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAPPENED TO MY ROOTS?"

I call it quits,
kaput.

At 18 they said go away,
"we'll keep an eye on things,
till you return one day",
I come back after a few years,
houses sold,
rust and mold,
strangers stand instead of friends,
land disgraced,
an empty global nothing place,
a home lost to outer space,
but at least the ONE TRUE RACE abides,
my roots buried under landslides.

White trash and the landfill,
spilled memories,
POP CULTURE and spiritual diabetes,
in my Mercedes,
racing for the stars,
devouring cocaine,
driving insane,
from nowhere,
to nowhere.

Roots severed.

World empty.

But I'm so fucking happy for your Iron Eyes Cody.

For your Chief Seattle.

For your casinos.

I just want to find my fucking roots.