St. Stephen

Saint Stephen with a rose

In and out of the garden he goes

Country garden 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

Wrap the babe in scarlet colors, call it your own



Did he doubt or did he try?

Answers aplenty in the by and by

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 washed by the suds and foam

Been here so long, he's got to calling it home.



Fortune comes a crawlin', calliope woman

Spinnin' that curious sense of your own

Can you answer?

Yes I can

But what would be the answer to the answer man?