The bloodhounds look like sad old judges In a strange court. They point their noses At the Negro jerking in the tight noose; His feet spread crow-like above these Honorable men who laugh as he chokes. I don’t know this black man. I don’t know these white men. But I know that one of my hands Is black, and one white. I know that One part of me is being strangled, While another part horribly laughs. Until it changes, I shall be forever killing; and be killed.