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Intoxicated from the fruits of heaven that fell in my garden, I was unafraid. I was an artist and pain was my muse and my bride. Lo! I have painted a picture. Behold it! Peasants! Negroes! I dance the drunkard's dance over the grave of my neighbors. They are Negroes. But, we are all Negroes, forging our chains of little faith through the Valley of Dogs. Little Negro, come hither, Who hath laid lies in your heart? Salvation is for orphans and believers. Not for snakes.