#AmericanWriters
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Big Boy came Carrying a mermaid On his shoulders And the mermaid Had her tail
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,