Life Is A Big Sea Full Of

Though You May Hear Me Holler, And You May See Me Cry-- I'll Be Dogged, Sweet Baby, If You Gonna See Me Die.

Blues Had The Pulse Beat Of The People Who Keep On Going.

What Happens To A Dream Deferred? Does It Dry Up Like A Raisin In The Sun? Or Fester Like A Sore-- And Then Run? Does It Stink Like Rotten Meat? Or Crust And Sugar Over-- Like A Syrupy Sweet? Maybe It Just Sags Like A Heavy Load. Or Does It Explode?

Out Of The Rack And Ruin Of Our Gangster Death, The Rape And Rot Of Graft, And Stealth, And Lies, We, The People, Must Redeem The Land, The Mines, The Plants, The Rivers. The Mountains And The Endless Plain-- All, All The Stretch Of These Great Green States-- And Make America Again!

Anyday, One Can Walk Down The Street In A Big City And See A Thousand People. Any Photographer Can Photograph These People - But Very Few Photographers Can Make Their Prints Not Only Reproductions Of The People Taken, But A Comment Upon Them - Or More, A Comment Upon Their Lives - Or More Still, A Comment Upon The Social Order That Creates These Lives.