I am your noble savage, but to me I am a man
The father of my sons, the servant of my woman
And I have made my bow, I take only what I need
I am the maker of fire, and the planter of seed
And I have learned an order in things, and I teach my children
For each seed a star, for each son a generation
I have no time for freedom, barefoot I run in forest leaves
There is pain in birth, but for the dead I do not grieve
I have cut marks on my body, there is beauty in pain
And a sadness in joy, like death and the sunset
I am the willing heathen, I worship everything
I will add new words to my language and write them on the wind
I am the maker of music, and the reader of the heavens
I am the worker of magic, and the fearer of storms
I am the writer in sand. I am the first and last man
And if I could read the future, I would ask you not to come
