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 d**h 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.