Hold fast to dreams 

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Here on the edge of hell

Stands Harlem—

Remembering the old lies, 

The old kicks in the back,

The old "Be patient"

They told us before.

Sure, we remember.

Now when the man at the corner store

Says sugar's gone up another two cents,

And bread one,

And there's a new tax on cigarettes—

We remember the job we never had,

Never could get,

And can't have now

Because we're colored.

So we stand here

On the edge of hell

in Harlem

And look out on the world

And wonder

What we're gonna do

In the face of what

We remember.