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.
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