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.
Ethel Waters sleeps in the stable
Looking up at the moon and the stars-
It's a bright night in Lexington, Kentucky,-
But the Colored Folks in town will not
Rent a room... THE DEVILS MUSIC IN HELL (for Billie Holiday) by Julius E. Thompson.
