Saint Stephen with a rose
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In and out of the garden he goes
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Country garland in the wind and the rain
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Wherever he goes, the people all complain
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Stephen prospered in his time
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Well he may and he may decline
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Did it matter? |
Does it now?
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Stephen would answer if he only knew how
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Wishing well with a golden bell
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Bucket hanging clear to Hell
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Hell halfway 'twixt now and then
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Stephen fill it up and lower down
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And lower down again
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Ladyfinger dipped in moonlight
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Writing «What for?» |
across the morning sky
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Sunlight splatters dawn with answers
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Darkness shrugs and bids the day good-bye
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Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow
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What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned
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Several seasons with their treasons
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Wrap the babe in scarlet covers, call it your own
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Did he doubt or did he try?
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Answers aplenty in the bye and bye
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Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills
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One man gathers what another man spills
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Saint Stephen will remain
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All he’s lost he shall regain
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Seashore washed by the suds and foam
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Been here so long he’s got to calling it home
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Fortune comes a-crawling, Calliope woman
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Spinning that curious sense of your own
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Can you answer? |
Yes I can
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But what would be the answer to the answer man? |