Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,

Night funeral
In Harlem:
Where did they get
Them two fine cars?
Insurance man, he did not pay—

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,

I was so sick last night I
Didn’t hardly know my mind.
So sick last night I
Didn’t know my mind.
I drunk some bad licker that

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams

My old mule,
He’s gota grin on his face.
He’s been a mule so long
He’s forgotten about his race.
I’m like that old mule —

Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long—headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold

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—

From Christ to Ghandi
Appears this truth—
St. Francis of Assisi
Proves it, too:
Goodness becomes grandeur

I catch the pattern
Of your silence
Before you speak
I do not need
To hear a word.