It was up in Canada and it was August, but very cold. I 
had been staying on this Cree Indian reservation for a 
few days, just sort of hanging around. One day, some 
anthropologists showed up at the reservation. They came 
in a little plane with maple leaves painted on the 
wings. They said they were there to shoot a documentary 
of the Cree Indians. They set up their video equipment 
in a tin Quonset hut next to the Hudson Bay Company. 
Then they asked the oldest man on the reservation to 
come and sing some songs for their documentary. On the 
day of the taping, the old man arrived. He was blind 
and wearing a red plaid shirt. They turned on some 
lights and he started to sing. But he kept starting 
over and sweating. Pretty soon it was clear that he 
didn't really know any of the songs. He just kept 
The only words he really seemed sure of were "Hey ah 
... hey ah hey ... hey hey hey ah hey ... hey ..."

(Hey ah hey hey hey ah hey) I am singing the songs,
(Hey ah hey ah hey) the old songs ... but I can't 
remember the words of the old songs,
(Hey hey hey ah hey) the old hunting songs. 
I am singing the songs of my fathers and of the animals 
they hunted down.
(Hey hey hey ah hey) I never knew the words of the old 
songs.
(Hey hey ah hey hey hey hey ah hey) I never went 
hunting.
(Hey hey ah ah hey ah hey) I never sang the songs
(Hey ah hey) of my fathers.
(Hey hey ah hey) I am singing for this movie;
(Hey ah) I am doing this for money.
(Hey hey ah hey) I remember Grandfather; he lay on his 
back while he was dying.
(Hey ah hey hey ah hey) I think I am no one.
(Hey hey ah hey hey)