You Can't Beat Me And My Prayers!

When God Had Made The Man, He Made Him Out Of Stuff That Sung All The Time And Glittered All Over. Some Angels Got Jealous And Chopped Him Into Millions Of Pieces, But Still He Glittered And Hummed. So They Beat Him Down To Nothing But Sparks But Each Little Spark Had A Shine And A Song. So They Covered Each One Over With Mud. And The Lonesomeness In The Sparks Make Them Hunt For One Another.

When We Sing The Blues, We're Singin' Out Our Hearts, We're Singing Out Our Feelings. Maybe We're Hurt And Just Can't Answer Back, Then We Sing Or Maybe Even Hum The Blues.

Oh To Be A Pear Tree – Any Tree In Bloom! With Kissing Bees Singing Of The Beginning Of The World!

The North Has No Interest In The Particular Negro, But Talks Of Justice For The Whole. The South Has Not Interest, And Pretends None, In The Mass Of Negroes But Is Very Much Concerned About The Individual.

The Monstropolous Beast Had Left His Bed. The Two Hundred Miles A Hour Wind Had Loosed His Chains. He Seized Hold Of His Dikes And Ran Forward Until He Met The Quarters; Uprooted Them Like Grass And Rushed On After His Supposed-to-be Conquerors, Rolling The Dikes, Rolling The Houses, Rolling The People In The Houses Along With Other Timbers. The Sea Was Walking The Earth With A Heavy Heel.