text: Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
  Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile egg-shell mind
  Blood in the streets
  In the town of New Haven
  Blood stains the roofs
  And the palm trees of Venice
  Blood in my love
  In the terrible summer
  Bloody red sun of
  Phantastic L.A
  Blood screams her brain
  As they chop off her fingers
  Blood will be born
  In the birth of a nation
  Blood is the rose of
  Mysterious union
  Blood on the rise
  Its following me
  Indian, Indian
  What did you die for?
  Indian says nothing at all
  Gently they stir
  Gently rise
  The dead are new-born awakening
  With ravaged limbs
  And wet souls
  Gently they sigh
  In rapt funeral amazement
  Who called these dead to dance?
  Was it the young woman
  Learning to play the Ghost Song
  In her baby grand
  Was it the wilderness children?
  Was it the Ghost-God himself
  Stuttering, cheering
  Chatting blindly?
  I called you up to
  Annoint the earth
  I called you to announce
  Sadness falling like
  Burned skin
  I called you to wish you well
  To glory in self like a new monster
  And now I call on you to pray