#AmericanWriters
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
My name is Johnson— Madam Alberta K. The Madam stands for business. I’m smart that way. I had a
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
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…
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
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,
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt