“Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding, Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.
Me and my mother, father, grandmother and grandfather were driving through the desert.. at dawn. And a truck load of Indian workers had either hit another car or just - I don’t
know what happened - but there were Indians scattered all over the highway, bleeding to death. So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I musta’ been about four, like a child is like a flower. His head is just floating in the breeze. The reaction I get now - thinking about it looking back - is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians… maybe one or two of ‘em… were just running around freaking out, and just leaped into my soul…
They’re still in there.
Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding.. Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.” -Jim Morrison
