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