Saint Stephen with a rose
In and out of the garden he goes
Country garland in the wind and the rain
Wherever he goes, the people all complain
Stephen prospered in his time
Well, he may and he may decline
Did it matter? Does it now?
Stephen would answer if he only knew how
Wishing well with a golden bell
Bucket hanging clear to Hell
Hell halfway twixt now and then
Stephen fill it up and lower down
And lower down again
Ladyfinger dipped in moonlight
Writing What for? across the morning sky
Darkness splatters dawn with answers
Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye
Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow
What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned
Several seasons with their treasons
Wrap the babe in scarlet covers, call it your own
Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers aplenty in the bye and bye
Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills
One man gathers what another man spills
Saint Stephen will remain
All he lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and foam
Been here so long he’s got to calling it home
Fortune comes a-crawling, Calliope woman
Spinning that curious sense of your own
Can you answer? Yes I can
But what would be the answer to the answer man?
High green chilly winds and windy vines
In loops around the twining shafts of lavender
Theyre crawling to the sun
Wonder who will water all the children of the garden
When they sigh about the barren lack of rain and
Droop so hungry neath the sky
Underfoot the ground is patched
With climbing arms of ivy wrapped around the manzanita
Stark and shiny in the breeze
William Tell has stretched his bow ’til it wont stretch no furthermore
When he will release it, where did the apple roll