You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.

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

Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:

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

been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done

I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.

The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,

When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left

Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—

You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!

Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:

How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,