Si le bon dieu Venait revivre sa peine Il aurait les yeux D'un enfant noir de Harlem Des eglises blanches Se fermeraient devant lui Des ecoles blanches
Dear God it's me transmittin' from This tiny place I live in Harlem Oh heaven we have a problem Cuz we lost all correspondence And there's no more prophets
I've said it once or twice, I'm coming down to show you the way to live with my hand. Inner me, I know you are killing me from inside. You can laugh
: Have thine own way, Lord, have thine own way, Thou art the potter, I am the clay, Mold me and make me, fester thy will, While I am waiting, gilded