#AmericanWriters
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.