The Song of the Smoke
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