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From “Mid-American Songs”
DON’T try, little one, to keep hold of me. | |
| Go home! There’s a place for you by the fire. | |
| Age is waiting to welcome you, love— | |
| Go home and sit by the fire. | |
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| Into the naked street I ran, | 5 |
| Roaring and bellowing like a cow; | |
| Shaking the walls of the houses down, | |
| Proclaiming my dream of black desire. | |
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| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole, | |
| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole. | 10 |
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| If there’s a thing in this world that’s good it’s guts. | |
| I’m a blackbird hovering over the land: | |
| Go on home! Let me alone. | |
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| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole, | |
| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole. | 15 |
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| Do you know, little dove, I admire your lips— | |
| They’re so red. | |
| What are you doing out in the street? | |
| Take my arm! Look at me! | |
| Ah, you be gone. I’m sixty-five years old tonight, | 20 |
| Now what’s the use of beginning again. | |
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| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole, | |
| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole. | |
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| Well, I’m tired. I ache. What’s the use? | |
| I can’t meet the note. I have a son. | 25 |
| Let’s go home. It’s twelve o’clock. | |
| I’m going to get that boy into West Point yet. | |
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| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole, | |
| Eighteen letters in a pigeon-hole. | |
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