Things which are alike, in nature, grow to look alike,
and the speaking stones have lain a long time lookin’ at the sun.
The speaking stones?
Some believe they descend with the lightning,
but I believe they are on the ground and are projected downward by the bolt.
Did you kill the white man who killed you?
I’m not dead.
What name were you given at birth, stupid white man?
Blake.
William Blake.
Is this a lie? Or a white man’s trick?
– No, I’m William Blake. –
Then you are a dead man.
I’m sorry. I d— I don’t understand.
Is your name really William Blake?
Yes.
Every night…
and every morn’,
some to misery are born.
Every morn’ and every night,
some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to endless night.
I really don’t understand.
But I understand, William Blake.
You were a poet and a painter.
And now, you are a killer of white men.
You must rest now, William Blake.
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to endless night