Me and my mother and father -

And a grandmother and a grandfather -

Were driving through the desert

At dawn, and a truck load of Indian workers

Had either hit another car, or just -

I don't know what happened -

But there were Indians scattered

All over the highway, bleeding to death

So the car pulls up and stops

That was the first time I tasted fear

I must've been about four -

Like a child is like a flower

His head is just floating in the breeze, man

The reaction I get now thinking about it

Looking back - is that the souls

Or the ghosts, of those dead Indians

Maybe one or two of them

Were just running around freaking out

And just leaped into my soul

And they're still in there