St. Stephen (Live At the Fillmore West 1969)

St. 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 covers, call it your own

Did he doubt or did he try?

Answers a-plenty in the bye and bye

Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills

One man gathers what another man spills

St. Stephen will remain, all he lost, he shall regain

Seashore walk 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 and loops around the twining

Shafts of lavender, they're crawling to the sun

Wonder who will water all the children of the garden

When they sigh about the barren lack of rain

And troop so hungry 'neath the sky

Underfoot the ground is patched

With climbing arms of ivy wrapped around

The Manzanita, dark and shiny in the breeze

William Tell has stretched his bow

Till it won't stretch no furthermore

And all that they require in change

That hasn't gone before