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I left out the bugler with my first upload thinking the lyrics of the song would have been the most important message of Kris' great performance. Some viewers complained. So, here you are.

It's a song by the Indian folk singer Peter LaFarge (Narragansett Indian Tribe), but Johnny's interpretation made it popular.
He heard "The Ballad of Ira Hayes," one of La Farge's most heartfelt songs, and then saw La Farge perform in New York. They met in Nashville, and the country music star later cut an entire album, Bitter Tears, devoted to the status of the Native American in the United States, which included a half-dozen of La Farge's songs. Cash's single of "The Ballad of Ira Hayes" reached No. 3 on the country music charts, despite the refusal of many country disc jockeys to play the serious, politically provocative song, and Cash later gave it further exposure with a performance at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival.

There is a movie about the life of Ira Hayes, "The Outsider" (1961 with Tony Curtis) and another one "Flags of our fathers" (2006) about the soldiers in the battle of Iowa Jima and the events around that famous photo with this following show that the three survived soldiers had to act in. It's very well-made, impressive and touching ... Produced by Clint Eastwood and Steven Spielberg

The tribute show was only a short time before Kris had to undergo a triple bypass operation in May, and to me he didn't look really healthy on that stage.
Or was it just because this song is so sad?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ira_Hayes

Ballad of Ira Hayes
Peter LaFarge

Gather round me, people, there's a story I would tell,
About a brave young Indian who you should remember well;
From the land of the Pima Indians, a proud and noble band,
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona land.

Down their ditches for a thousand years the waters grew Ira's people's crops,
till the white man stole their water rights and the sparklin' water stopped.
Now Ira's folks grew hungry, their land grew crops of weeds.
When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.

Call him drunken Ira Hayes - He won't answer anymore,
Not the whiskey-drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.

Well, they battled up Iwo Jima hill - two hundred and fifty men,
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
When the fight was over and Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian Ira Hayes.

Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated through the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored - everybody shook his hand;
But he was just a Pima Indian - no water, no home, no chance;
back home nobody cared what Ira had done and when do the Indians dance.

Then Ira started drinkin' hard and jail was often his home;
They let him raise the flag of glory like you'd throw a dog a bone;
He died drunk early one morning, alone in the land he'd fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes...

Call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is just as dry,
his ghost is lying thirsty In the ditch where Ira died.

Ballad of Ira Hayes

Versammelt euch um mich, Leute,
es gibt da eine Geschichte,
die ich euch erzählen will,
über einen mutigen jungen Indianer,
an den ihr euch gut erinnern solltet,

vom Land der Pima Indianer,
stolzen und angesehenen Leuten,
die das Phoenix Tal in Arizona bebauten.

Tausend Jahre lang hatte Wasser das Getreide
von Iras Volk unten im Graben bewässert,
bis der weiße Mann ihre Wasserrechte stahl
und ihr schäumendes Wasser stoppte.

Jetzt musste Iras Volk hungrig aufwachsen
und auf ihren Farmen wuchs nur noch Unkraut.
Als der Krieg kam, meldete sich Ira freiwillig
und vergaß die Gier des weißen Mannes.

Nennt ihn den betrunkenen Ira Hayes-
er wird nicht mehr antworten,
weder der Whiskey trinkende Indianer,
noch der Marinesoldat,
der in den Krieg gezogen war.

Sie kämpften um den Iwo Jima Hügel,
250 Männer, aber nur 27 überlebten
und konnten wieder runter gehen
als der Kampf zu Ende war
und der alte Ruhm wieder wuchs
war unter den Männern, die ihn hochhielten,
der Indianer Ira Hayes.

Ira Hayes kam als Held zurück
und wurde im ganzen Land gefeiert.
Er wurde fürstlich bewirtet,
Reden auf ihn gehalten und er wurde geehrt,
jeder schüttelte seine Hand.

Aber er war nur ein Pima Indianer,
hatte kein Wasser, kein zuhause, keine Chance.
Wieder daheim interessierte es niemanden,
was Ira getan hatte,
und wann tanzen die Indianer?

Dann fing Ira an zu trinken,
oft war das Gefängnis sein zuhause;
sie ließen ihn die Flagge hissen und runterlassen,
wie wenn du einem Hund einen Knochen hinwirfst.

Er starb betrunken eines frühen Morgens;
allein in dem Land, für das er kämpfte
um es zu retten.
Fünf Zentimeter Wasser in einem einsamen Graben -
das war das Grab für Ira Hayes.

Ja, nennt ihn den betrunkenen Ira Hayes,
aber sein Land ist noch genauso trocken,
und der Geist liegt durstig in dem Graben,
in dem Ira starb.