"It is Here, and to Where I am From"

A selection from T.S. Elliot's original Epic
Transcribed by Courtney Jensen in 2002

Where I am from…
I am from fallen pine needles
Distant to the roaring sea-
Their rhythmic crackle beneath our dusty feet
The pollen beneath the leaves beneath the trees.

Where I am from…
I am from a secluded street-
Park Stevens even when I chose to be…
Diluted the very thought of me
It's where I'm left to see
Just where I choose to lead…

It's here I am from…
From a bloodline kin of three,
Twice separated and raised in four
It's there I was from…
Walking through that door-
Never did either of the three
Neither asked to be
Nor ever ask for more.

And when I was young…
I never felt to see
Just why they'd ever breed
Just where they found it free
Not ever in our three.
Would we ever dare to see…

I guess I was from…
Tired retired wired old men
On a fresh peppy thirteen…
It's what they chose to be-
Where she followed their lead.
Yet never did they see.
The production of us three…

Where I am from…
I guess you could say penetrations.
But the separation at birth.
The temptation of girth.
Unearthed the condemnation of three…

Yet from where could I have come?
White trash and a procedure of surgery.
Eleven infections
Jagermiester to c-section
They couldn't use protection
Upon inspection, the sickest thing I've ever seen.

Where else could it have been?
Because I couldn't quite believe
Just how he'd watch her bleed
Her power to conceive
So hard to grasp for me

From where else could I have come?
Never fully married
Always half divorced
Remorse would build in me
And swallow the hearts of three

I knew from where it was-
Yet couldn't understand
Her legs were rubber bands-
Stretched across the land
Across the dusty sands
I always called my home.

What made us three was past
It happened all too fast
Never an abortion
the fix would never last-
Just the contortion inserts the portion
That's the catalyst to me.

Now that I have come…
My clinical tests
Severe unrest
Stressing incestual conception…
Nothing out of the ordinary
And nothing new to me…

So where was I from?
It may be salty beads of sweat
Gliding off a wet bonch…
He was seemingly so old.
And she, so young and bold.
And then came me.
And the rest of the three.
For of my life you can see
This life that rests in me
To you who is reading
Never stop believing
They never believed in me…
For I am Gene Hackman!