I am your noble savage, but to me I am a man.
The father of my sons, the servant of my woman.
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And I have made my bow, I take only what I need.
I am the maker of fire, and the planter of seed.
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And I have learned an order in things, and I teach my children.
For each seed a star, for each son a generation.
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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.
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I have cut marks on my body, there is beauty in pain.
And a sadness in joy, like death and the sunset.
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I am the willing heathen, I worship everything.
I will add new words to my language and write them on the wind.
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I am the maker of music, and the reader of the heavens.
I am the worker of magic, and the fearer of storms.
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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.
