Black is what the prisons are,
The stagnant vortex of the hours
Swept into totality,
Creeping in the perjured heart,
Bitter in the vulgar rhyme,
Bitter on the walls;
Black is where the devils dance
With time within
The creviced wall.
Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the... TAKE MY HAND PRECIOUS LORD by Thomas A. Dorsey.
