Original subtitles

Look out the window.

And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat?

And then later that night you were lying, looking up at the ceiling,

and the water in your head

was not dissimilar from the landscape.

And you think to yourself,

"Why is it that the landscape is moving,

but... the boat is still?"

And also, where is it that you're from?

- Cleveland. - Cleveland.

- Lake Erie. - Erie.

Do you have any parents back in, uh, Erie?

They passed on recently.

And, uh...

do you have a wife...

in Erie?

No.

A fiancée?

Well, I - I had one of those, but, um...

she changed her mind.

She found herself somebody else.

No.

Yes, she did.

Well, that doesn't explain

why you've come all the way out here.

All the way out here to hell.

I, uh...

I have a job...

out in, uh, the town of Machine.

Machine. That's the end of the line.

- Is it? - Yes.

Well, I received a letter...

from the... people...

at Dickinson's Metal Works, assuring me of a job there.

Is that so?

Yes. I'm an accountant.

I wouldn't know, because, uh, I don't read.

But, uh, I'll tell you one thing for sure.

I wouldn't trust no words writ down on no piece of paper.

Especially from no Dickinson out in the town of Machine.

You're just as likely to find your own grave.

Look. They're shooting buffalo.

Government says they killed a million of 'em

last year alone.

Hyah! Hah!

Pardon me, sir.

Could you please direct me towards the office?

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

How do you do, sir? I'm Bill Blake, your new accountant from Cleveland.

What the heck are you doing here?

Oh, uh, I have here this letter...

which confirms my position here.

Well, this letter is postmarked two months ago.

Makes you about a month late.

This here is Mr. Olafsen. He's our new accountant.

I'm sorry.

I think there's been some mistake.

- Look, Mr. Black - - Blake.

I'm a very busy man.

And Mr. Dickinson does not pay me for idle conversation.

Well, I'm sure he doesn't, but this letter confirms my position here.

Now, I've spent everything I had left after my parents' funeral just to get here.

Listen, Mr. Black, I've got a lot of work to do here,

and this ain't my business.

I'd like to speak to Mr. Dickinson.

No, I-I don't think you want to do that.

I insist on speaking to Mr. Dickinson, sir.

You? Insist?

I insist.

You insist?

Yes, I do.

Well, go on then, lad. There's the door.

All right, then.

Go on, then!

Well, I will.

Mr. Dickinson?

Hello?

Mr. Dickinson.

Who the hell are you?

And where did you get that goddamn clown suit? Cleveland?

Uh... actually, yes, sir.

I did, uh, get it in Cleveland.

What the hell are you doing in my office?

Well, I-I-I came to talk about my job.

The only job you're gonna get in here is pushing up daisies from a pine box.

Now, get out.

Thank you very much, sir.

Back to work, Mr. Olafsen.

Excuse me.

Excuse me. Sorry.

Pardon me, sir.

Could I get a bottle, please?

We liked you better when you was a whore.

Jackass.

Shit.

Why don't you just paint my portrait?

I'm sorry.

Let me help. Here.

This one's no good. No, it's no good.

Oh, here. Oh!

Watch yourself.

You okay? You all right?

- Yeah. - Here.

Have a drink. Would you like a drink?

Thanks.

I'm sorry.

Would you mind walking me away from here?

- Sure. - Yeah?

Sure.

I'll just get my suitcase.

- It's that way. - All right.

Aw, shit.

I have a sneaking suspicion that that large man back there...

was inebriated.

I was gonna say something, but I don't want to cause any trouble.

No, I think it's better you didn't.

That's my room.

Wasn't...

expecting any visitor.

- Like it? - Yes. It's beautiful.

These flowers - Gosh.

They really are something.

Yeah. Thank you.

You're welcome.

I made them from... paper.

If I ever get the money,

I'd like to make them out of cloth.

Silk.

And I'd put a drop of perfume...

French perfume...

on each one.

What does it smell like?

Paper.

Well, it is paper.

Hey, Bill.

You got any tobacco anywhere?

No, I don't smoke.

Damn.

Ow.

Oh, watch it. It's loaded.

Why do you have this?

'Cause this is America.

Charlie.

You know, Thel...

I never wanted to go away.

I know we said it was, uh - it was all over and everything, but...

you were always in my heart, Thel.

Always.

I, uh-

I brought you a...

Well...

it's a present.

A present?

Well, I, uh -

I'm - I'm goin'.

And, uh, I'm...

I'm sorry, Thel.

For, uh -

For intrudin'.

Well, I never really loved you anyway.

No, Charlie.

- I never stopped loving you, Thel. - Don't!

Thel.

Whoa.

Oh.

Yeah. Mmm.

There is white man's metal next to your heart.

I tried to cut it out, but it's too deep inside.

The knife would cut your heart instead

and release the spirit from within.

Stupid fucking white man.

Do you have any tobacco?

I don't smoke.

Hey, Wilson, you got any extra tobacco?

Of course you wouldn't have any extra tobacco.

How about you?

Shit, you ain't even old enough to smoke.

Mr. John Dickinson.

Last night my youngest son, Charlie,

God bless his soul,

was gunned down in cold blood right here in our own hotel.

The gutless murderer, one Mr. Bill Blake,

also shot to death Miss Thel Russell,

the fiancée of my beloved son.

Not only that,

but he stole a very spirited and valuable horse,

a beautiful young pinto

that belonged to my personal family stable.

Pinto ain't - Pinto ain't rightly a horse to fret much about, if the truth be told.

Shut up!

You three are supposed to be the finest killers of men and Injuns

in this here half of the world.

Cole Wilson, your reputation is already a legend.

You I know I can trust.

Conway Twill, you're a real good killer.

But be sure you keep that goddamn trap shut.

And Johnny "The Kid" Pickett.

I heard tell you killed 14 men.

I doubt you've seen that many years.

And I ain't even gonna tell you what I really think of ya.

I always work alone.

Uh, excuse me there, Mr. Dickinson, but, uh, rightly I -

I never have worked with anyone else either. I never have.

Uh, yeah, m-me neither.

Shut up!

My boy, Charlie, is dead.

Now, I ain't asking this time.

I'm tellin'.

And if somebody don't like it, I'm prepared to do a little killin' of my own.

Now, that bastard couldn't have got too far yet.

Well, let me just say there, Mr. Dickinson, sir,

I think maybe we oughta start fresh in the mornin'.

I mean, it's well after noon now, and by the time we get finished -

all packed up and -

I want him brought here to me.

Alive or dead don't matter, though I reckon dead would be easier.

I'm hiring you boys on an exclusive basis,

and I'm willin' to pay more money than you've ever seen before.

Boys...

the hunt is on.

Stupid fucking white man.

I want this out over the wires.

Post a $500 reward from here to hell and back.

Notify every marshal, deputy, and possum-skinnin' lowlife

in the goddamn territory.

Bring everybody in. I want that bastard's head.

And make sure you include a full description of my pinto.

I want that horse back.

Goddamn pinto is a stupid damn animal.

Stupid as the day is long.

What the hell is he all on 'bout, gettin' hisself all up and twisted?

Got his heart so set on one,

buy yourself a sorrel horse and paint some white spots on it, as far as I'm concerned.

Jesus Christ.

Course, ya can't put much stock in a man

who spends the most part of a conversation talkin' to a bear.

Talkin' to a goddamn bear.

The round stones beneath the earth -

have spoken through the fire.

What?

Things which are alike in nature

grow to look alike.

And the speaking stones have lain a long time looking 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 don't - 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."

Makin' biscuits with Mommy.

Just starin' out of the window of the...

Kiss... Sweetheart...

You didn't touch it, did ya?

- Huh? - No.

- You swear to me. - Yeah, I swear.

You didn't get your hands on it at all, right?

Swear to me you're tellin' the truth.

Yes, I swear I'm telling 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.

Well, 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.

You ever wish you were the moon?

Geez, my Henry's cold.

Aw, come on.

My britches been open like that how long?

We've 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.

An Injun dug this fire pit.

Well -

We ain't trackin' no goddamned Injuns, Cole.

I mean, hell, Dickinson ain't say nothin' 'bout trackin' no goddamn Injuns.

I mean, boy's name is William Blake.

You know a lot of Indians, do ya, named William Blake?

- I mean, "Howdy! Chief Billy here -" - Did you hear something?

Huh?

- Did ya? - No.

I guess it was nothin'.

You know about Wilson?

What?

Do you know about Cole Wilson?

What kind of question is that? Course I know about Cole Wilson.

Everybody knows about him. He's a living legend.

He fucked his parents.

He what?

He fucked his parents.

- Both of 'em? - Yeah.

Mother. Father. Parents.

Both of 'em. Fucked 'em.

Oh.

And you know what I heard?

After he killed 'em,

cooked them up and ate 'em.

Are you telling me he killed both his parents?

I'm telling you he killed 'em, he fucked '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 will now be written with blood.

What is your name?

My name is Nobody.

Excuse me?

My name is Xebeche.

He-Who-Talks-Loud-Saying-Nothing.

He-Who-Talks-L -

I thought you said your name was Nobody.

I prefer to be called Nobody.

Nobody, um...

shouldn't you be with your own tribe or something?

My blood is mixed.

My mother was Ungumpe-Piikani.

My father is Apsàalooke.

This mixture was not respected.

As a small boy I was often left to myself.

So I spent many months stalking the elk people...

to prove I would soon become a good hunter.

One day, finally, my elk relatives took pity on me,

and a young elk gave his life to me.

With only my knife, I took his life.

As I was preparing to cut the meat, white men came upon me.

They were English soldiers.

I cut one with my knife,

but they hit me on the head with a rifle.

All went black.

My spirit seemed to leave me.

I was then taken East, in a cage.

I was taken to Toronto, then Philadelphia,

and then to New York.

And each time I arrived in another city,

somehow the white men had moved all their people there ahead of me.

Each new city contained the same white people as the last,

and I could not understand how a whole city of people could be moved so quickly.

Eventually I was taken on a ship,

across the great sea,

over to England,

and I was paraded before them like a captured animal,

an exhibit.

And so I mimicked them,

imitating their ways,

hoping that they might lose interest in this young savage.

But their interest only grew.

So they placed me into the white man's schools.

And it was there that I discovered,

in a book,

the words that you, William Blake, had written.

They were powerful words and they spoke to me.

But I made careful plans and I eventually escaped.

Once again...

I crossed the great ocean.

I saw many sad things as I made my way back to the lands of my people.

Once they realized who I was,

the stories of my adventures angered them.

They called me a liar.

Xebeche.

He-Who-Talks-Loud-Saying-Nothing.

They ridiculed me. My own people.

And I was left to wander the earth alone.

I am Nobody.

Ain't ya glad the sun kinda sets, prepares you, like?

I mean, what if it, like, went out sudden, like, say, blowing out a candle or something.

I mean, you know, one minute we're ridin' along,

we can see everything and each other, and boom!

Next minute it's just - You're in total darkness.

That'd scare the bejesus out of me.

Once upon a time there were three bears in the forest.

There was a big papa bear, a medium mommy bear,

and a tiny, little baby bear.

One morning they were gonna eat their breakfast porridge.

They had a big bowl, a medium bowl, and a tiny, little bowl.

But that porridge was too hot.

Stupid white man.

William Blake, you go to them.

What?

Alone?

- Why don't we just go around them? - No!

You go.

It's a test.

I don't know those people, and they don't look very friendly.

What if they kill me?

Nobody will observe.

She went in to their bedroom, and there was a big bed, a medium bed -

All right. I'll go.

I'd rather not, but I'll go.

The bears got home, and Papa said,

"Somebody here ate all our porridge!"

What's the best way to get down there?

Be quiet and go.

- And he scalped her. - All right.

And he tore her head off her body.

He took that golden hair and he made a sweater for Baby Bear.

That's terrible.

Tonight we are reminded of the evil emperor, Nero Augustus.

He was the scourge of all the Christians.

What's a scourge?

It's like when something real bad happens.

Like when everybody gets killed and you can't do anything about it.

Like a swarm of locusts.

For the entertainment of his guests,

Nero would illuminate his whole garden with the bodies of live Christians

covered in burning oil

and strung up on flaming crosses, crucified.

And at dinner...

he'd have the Christians rubbed by his guards

with aromatic herbs and garlic

and sewn up into sacks.

And then they'd throw these sacks to the wild dogs.

- Well, that's terrible. - It's horrible.

Terrible is what it is.

You know, I just - I can't drink whiskey like I used to could.

My old belly just ain't no account.

I get the shits every time, don't ya know.

I'm sorry, Big George.

I got some food here that even Goldilocks never tasted.

I think this is gonna fix up your ol' gut.

These beans are shit.

Why don't you shut your goddamn trap and just eat your beans.

Benmont, there's possum in these beans,

and spices too.

I tried hard.

Well, Sally, I don't give a pig's ass what anybody says.

I still say you make a hell of a pot of beans.

Now, why don't you say us a grace out of the good book, would you?

Thank you, Big George. And I'd be delighted to do that.

"This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand;"

and I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee;

and I will give the carcasses of the host of the Philistines this day

unto the fowls of the air

"and the wild beasts of the earth."

- Amen. - Amen.

What's a Philistine?

Well, it's just a real dirty person.

Hello.

I s-smelled...

beans.

Who you travelin' with?

I'm with Nobody.

Where you headed?

I don't know.

Do you like beans?

Oh, I... I love beans.

- Have you got any tobacco? - I'm sorry. I don't smoke.

- Would you give me some tobacco? - I would if I had some.

I'll trade you some beans for some tobacco.

I don't have any tobacco, but I'd love some beans.

Hurt.

Yes.

Eyeglasses.

Yes.

Pretty suit too.

I clean up real good, you know.

- Is that right? - Yeah.

- What size shoes are those? - Ten.

They look very comfortable. Are they?

Not too bad.

What kind of flower is that?

Well, it's a rose...

that's made out of paper.

- Paper. - Rose.

Now, you see there?

- Look at the edge on that knife. - Mmm.

- Feel that. - I'd rather not.

Ah, go on.

- Mmm. - That...

is a very, very sharp knife, that is.

- Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. - Yeah. Yeah.

What do you call it?

Pretty.

I'm sorry?

That hat. What do you call it?

I'm really not sure.

Ah, your hair.

Your hair is soft.

It's like a girl's.

By God, it is soft.

Now, how do you get it thataway?

See this old stuff of mine, it's just -

Well, it's just like old barn hay. There ain't a durn thing you can do with it.

- Mmm. - How do you -

How do you get it that way and keep it like that?

Just lucky, I guess.

Lucky. Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Goddamn it, you keep your hand off of it.

I thought I told you not to touch me.

I don't give a good goddamn what you told me. You keep your hands off his hair.

- Why? What's that to do with you then, eh? - It's got plenty to do with me, goddamn it.

- Really? - That's right.

- This one's mine! - This one's yours?

Yes. This one's mine, Big George.

You had the last one.

- Is that a fact? - I saw him first.

I don't give a shit who saw what and who did what or who did who.

You had the last Philistine. This one's mine.

If I want this one, I'll have him too, by God.

Fine.

What happens if I just shoot you then, eh? What do you think about that?

- You gonna shoot me? - Yeah, that's right. I'm gonna shoot ya.

- Well, why don't you shoot me then, goddamn it? - I will! I'll shoot you right now!

- Come on. Shoot me. - I will.

Well, quit talking about it and do it, by God!

I will.

- There you go. - Good God, I'm hit!

Lord have mercy!

Burns like hellfire! You son of a bitch.

I'm gonna have to kill somebody now.

Well, goddamn it, I guess nobody gets you.

- What the hell? - Nobody.

Oh, Jesus.

The bears and the squirrels and the -

I cooked, I cleaned, and I sewed, and I have a right to live.

Save me.

Hootka!

That's me.

"Wanted."

"For the brutal murders of one Thel Russell and one Charles Ludlow Dickinson."

I didn't kill Thel.

I didn't kill Thel.

Your actions are useless.

This is complete fabrication. They can't...

You cannot stop the clouds by the building of a ship.

What?

What did you say?

You know, I've had it up to here with this Indian malarkey.

I haven't understood a single word you've said since I met you.

Not one single word.

Are you sure you have no tobacco?

I've already told you, I don't smoke.

If I don't smoke, there's a pretty good chance that I don't have any tobacco.

William Blake.

Whoa.

Whoa.

I guess the best advice is just not to take any damn advice.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

What the hell is that?

What's that say?

Read it.

"Wanted.

- "William Blake." - Huh.

For the amount of $500.

Shit.

Hell, ain't we about more fucked than a whore at closin' time, huh?

Thanks to goddamn Mr. Dickinson, huh?

I'll tell ya what that there says, huh.

It says some pelt-wearin' trapper,

some stinkin', bean-suckin' possum skinner,

he's gonna collect that reward money.

Make you feel good? Huh?

- A damn pelt skinner. - I'll be damned.

$500?

I don't understand. I thought we was hired exclusive.

I mean, he paid us in gold in advance.

I'm out here in the middle of shit's creek with two loco lunatics.

One who don't say nothin' -

and the other one, he won't ever stop yappin'.

You gonna shed tears for us?

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

And why not?

Because it ain't good for your health.

Fuck you.

Fuck me?

Fuck you.

Goddamn it.

Jesus, Cole.

He's just a kid.

He's a Navajo mud toy now.

Yeah.

Oh-hoh.

I have just ingested the food of the Great Spirit.

Grandfather peyote.

Do you think I could have a little bite of it?

It's not for use, even for William Blake.

The powers of the medicine gives you sacred visions

that are not for you right now.

My southern brothers were prohibited from using it...

by the Spanish devils.

But now,

even the Notnomemesa and the Dene...

know of its loving ways.

What?

What are you looking at?

William Blake.

It's so strange that you don't remember any of your poetry.

I don't know anything about poetry.

Oh, you're so modest.

Listen.

I feel very weak.

I'm hungry.

The quest for vision is a great blessing, William Blake.

To do so, one must go without food and water.

All the sacred spirits

recognize those who fast.

It's good to prepare for a journey in this way.

I seem to have misplaced my eyeglasses.

I can't see clearly.

Perhaps you will see more clearly without them.

You're a very strange man.

Very strange.

May the great spirit watch over you, William Blake.

Nobody?

Nobody?

Nobody?

Nobody?

Hey, Marvin.

What?

How come Dickinson's telegram didn't give no description

of the horse this murderin' fucker stole?

It did, Lee.

A pinto, just like that one.

White legs, brown ass, brown sides.

It did? I don't think it did, Marvin.

Well, you asshole!

You got the damn telegram on you. Take it out and look.

That's right. Yeah, I got it here. I'll check it.

Maybe I've been thinking of them wanted posters.

Lee, it's him.

You William Blake?

Yes, I am.

Do you know my poetry?

Some are born...

to endless night.

Rome weren't built in a day, Cole.

Of course, uh, I wasn't overseein' that particular job.

- Fresh kill. - Yeah.

Yeah. No damn tobacco, that's for sure.

Some kind of telegram or something?

What's that say?

Dickinson again.

Aw, goddamn Dickinson.

You mean to tell me he's even got the law involved in this now?

Jesus.

I tell you one thing though.

If that there Blake fella keeps on shooting marshals,

I might end up liking the bastard.

Looks like a goddamn religious icon.

Anyhow, gettin' back to the beginning of the story,

my granddaddy come over from Scotland.

You see, we was actually part of the MacTwill clan.

I believe the clan tartan was a kind of gold and purple,

if I remember correctly.

I never wore a lick of it myself.

Dropped the "Mac" part of the name when he decided to come out West

on account of he figured it'd get him more work and all.

How 'bout your family history there, Cole? Let me guess.

I kind of figured you for a German, huh?

I mean, am I right? Am I close?

Austrian?

I'd like to speak with Mr. Dickinson, please.

I insist on speaking with Mr. Dickinson.

Goddamn redskins!

Oh!

Nobody?

William Blake.

She's upset.

She's beautiful.

- She didn't mean to call you that. - Huh?

But you sure interrupted a very romantic moment, William Blake.

Oh, I'm sorry.

You just stay here until I return.

Don't let the sun burn a hole in your ass, William Blake.

Rise now, and drive your cart and plow over the bones of the dead.

Do you still have my eyeglasses?

No. I traded them.

You traded them?

Do you have any tobacco?

No.

I traded it.

For what?

I'm not telling.

Liar.

Thief.

I will take you to the bridge made of waters.

The mirror.

Then you will be taken up to the next level of the world.

The place where William Blake is from,

where his spirit belongs.

I must make sure that you pass back through the mirror

at the place where the sea meets the sky.

White man's trading post.

Indians get diseases there.

What do you mean?

Smallpox.

Consumption.

Blankets are infected.

It spreads to the villages.

I see you've acquired a new weapon.

Hmm? Oh, yes, a Winchester.

- Hmm. - Here, take it.

No.

No, really. Take it.

I took it off a dead white man.

Did William Blake kill this white man?

Yes.

William Blake killed the white man.

We need a canoe.

The water.

"For the brutal murders of Charles Dickinson and fiancée Thel Russell."

Also the murders of the following: Territorial Marshal Throneberry,

Deputy Hazlewood, Big George Drakoulious,

Benmont Tench,

"and one Salvatore 'Sally' Jenko."

- It's not bad. - Huh?

It's not a bad illustration of you, William Blake.

Well, I want you to have it.

It's a present.

Oh-hoh.

Good morning.

May you serve the Lord,

and may his holy dominion guide you through your dismal life.

How can I be of assistance, my poor man?

All our ammunition is guaranteed.

This latest batch was, in fact, personally blessed

by the archbishop of Detroit.

Good morning.

May our Lord, Jesus Christ, wash this earth with his holy light...

and purge its darkest places from heathens and...

Philistines.

The vision of Christ that thou dost see...

is my vision's greatest enemy.

Do you have tobacco?

We sure don't.

Aren't those tins of tobacco right there behind you?

Sure are.

But those cans are empty.

There's no tobacco in them.

Perhaps I could interest you in some beads.

Or possibly a blanket.

Blanket.

Yes, my fine fellow. Ammunition?

Uh, I'd like some tobacco, please.

Well, I may have one or two twists left.

From my personal supply, you understand.

For good friends only.

Good Lord.

You're William Blake.

Yes, I am.

By the grace of the Lord Almighty.

Sir, would it be presumptuous of me to ask you for...

for your autograph?

Please, kind sir.

It would be a great honor.

Pardon me.

There's my autograph.

God damn your soul to the fires of hell.

He already has.

Hootka.

I'm tired.

I'll free their horses.

I see you've collected some more white man's metal.

Yes.

I seem to be a magnet for it.

Yeah.

Good day for a canoe ride.

Ah.

Nobody?

Is this the boat...

that'll take me across the mirror of water?

No.

This boat's not strong enough, William Blake.

God.

- Oh-hoh! - Whoa.

Ho.

Oh-hoh!

Stand up, William Blake.

William Blake.

Ah.

Stand up.

Walk proudly, William Blake.

That man there?

I know him.

He's a great builder of sea canoes.

Hello.

I prepared your canoe with cedar boughs.

It's time for you to leave now, William Blake.

Time for you to go back to where you came from.

You mean Cleveland?

Back to the place where all the spirits came from...

and where all the spirits return.

This world will no longer concern you.

Found some tobacco.

That tobacco is for your voyage...

William Blake.

Nobody.

I don't smoke.

Oh-hoh, William Blake.