Dead Man Page #3

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.

Makin' biscuits, Mommy.

Sweetheart.

You didn't touch it,

did you?

- Huh?

- No.

- You swear to me.

- I swear.

Swear to me you're

tellin' the truth.

Yes, I swear I'm

tellin' the truth.

Not a goddamn word

to no one, ever.

You understand?

Don't ever ask me

no questions.

Where are we?

You are being followed,

William Blake.

Are you sure?

I mean, how do you know?

Often the evil stench

of white man precedes him.

Why don't we, uh...

Maybe we should, uh...

What should we do?

The eagle never lost so much

time as when he submitted

to learn from the crow.

Ever wish you were the moon?

Geez, my Henry's cold.

Aw, come on!

My britches been open

like that how long?

Only been ridin' a couple

of days together, but Jesus,

one of you fellas could've

mentioned the fact that...

Unsaddle

your goddamn horses.

Unsaddle

your goddamn horse.

Go on.

- Geez.

- An Injun dug this fire pit.

Oh.

Oh, an Indian.

We ain't trackin' no goddamn

Injuns, Cole. I mean, uh,

hell, Dickinson didn't say nothin'

about trackin' no goddamn Injuns.

I mean, the boy's name

is William Blake.

You know a lotta Indians, do ya,

named William Blake? I mean,

"Howdy, Chief Billy..."

D'you hear somethin'?

Huh?

- Did ya?

- No. No.

I guess it was nothin'.

You know about Wilson?

- What?

- Do you know about Cole Wilson?

What kinda question is that?

'Course I know about Cole Wilson.

Everybody knows about him.

He's a livin' legend.

F***ed his parents.

- He what?

- He f***ed his parents.

- Both of 'em?

- Yeah.

Mother. Father. Parents.

Both of 'em. F***ed 'em.

Oh.

And you know

what I heard?

After he killed 'em,

he cooked 'em up and ate 'em.

Are you telling me

he killed both his pa...

I'm tellin' you

he killed 'em. He f***ed 'em.

He cooked 'em up. He ate 'em.

He ain't got a goddamn conscience.

You understand what I'm sayin'?

He'd just as soon slit

our goddamn throats in the

middle of the night as walk.

Course, someone

your age, Jesus,

if you was

to put one in him...

"Johnny 'The Kid' Pickett

Slays Cole Wilson."

William Blake,

do you know how

to use this weapon?

- Not really.

- That weapon will replace your tongue.

You will learn

to speak through it,

and your poetry

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