| Lyrics: | St. Stephen
-
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.
Lady finger, dipped in
moonlight,
writing "What for?" across the morning sky.
Sunlight splatters, dawn with
answer,
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,
wrapped 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's
lost he shall regain,
seashore walk by the suds and the foam,
been there so long, he's got
to calling it home.
Fortune comes a calling, 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 twisted
shafts of lavender, they're crawling to the
sun.
Underfoot the ground is
patched
with arms of ivy wrapped around the manzanita, stark and shiny in
the
breeze.
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.
William Tell has
stretched his bow til it won't stretch
no furthermore and/or it may require a change that
hasn't come before |
