As long as the wild fire rages for days on end engulfing all in its path.
As long as the flood waters continue to rise until there's nothing left but murk and destruction.
There will be a city that rises from the ashes, a people who tame the waters, and rebuild their houses--stronger to resist its wrath.
As long as there are men in bondage, and men who grow fat and rich from their misery,
there will be those who take up the hammer to tear down the prison, and use the shackles of the enslaved to tie up the wardens, and march them through the streets.
As long as there is a dream deferred, a hope unrealized, and a well laid plain destined for ruin,
there will be one who lives the dream, one who learns to hope anew, and one stoops again over the drawing board and dares to dream again.
And as long as there is one solitary voice, alone, crying in the wilderness for freedom,
there will be Art in America.