#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,
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
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
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
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,
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.