I am the smoke king, I am black. I am swinging in the sky. I am ringing worlds on high: I am the thought of the throbbing mills, I am the soul of the soul toil kills, I am the ripple of trading rills, Up I’m curling from the sod, I am whirling home to God. I am the smoke king, I am black.
I am the smoke king, I am black. I am wreathing broken hearts, I am sheathing devils’ darts; Dark inspiration of iron times, Wedding the toil of toiling climes Shedding the blood of bloodless crimes, Down I lower in the blue, Up I tower toward the true, I am the smoke king, I am black.
I am the smoke king, I am black. I am darkening with song, I am hearkening to wrong; I will be black as blackness can, The blacker the mantle the mightier the man, My purpl’ing midnights no day dawn may ban. I am carving God in night, I am painting hell in white. I am the smoke king, I am black.
I am the smoke king, I am black. I am cursing ruddy morn, I am nursing hearts unborn; Souls unto me are as mists in the night, I whiten my blackmen, I beckon my white, What’s the hue of a hide to a man in his might! Hail, then, grilly, grimy hands, Sweet Christ, pity toiling lands! Hail to the smoke king, Hail to the black!!!
Reference:
W.E.B.Du Bois
