O! why was I born with a different face?
Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
When I look, each one starts; when I speak, I offend;
Then I'm silent and passive, and lose every friend.

Nobody, shouldn`t you be with your own tribe or something

My blood is mixed
My mother was ungumpai picani, my father was habsoluca
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 [bad word] 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 man had moved all thier 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
So I mimicked them, imitating their ways, hoping they might lose interest in this young savage, but their interest only grew
I was copying them so they placed me into the white mans school
It was there that I discovered, in a book, the words that William Blake had written
They were powerful words and they spoke to me
So I made careful plans and eventually I 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
Xebachae-he who talks loud saying nothing
Ridiculed by my own people, and I was left to wander the earth alone
I am Nobody.

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And `Thou shalt not 'writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was fillèd with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.