Train Fireman: I'll tell you one thing for sure... I wouldn't trust no words written 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.
Nobody: You are being followed, William Blake.
William Blake: Are you sure? How do you know?
Nobody: Often the evil stench of white man precedes him.
Nobody: Don't let the sun burn a hole in your ass, William Blake. Rise now, and drive your cart and plough over the bones of the dead!
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