Dear Cecil,

What will be the answer to the answer man?


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 prosper in his time
Well he may, and he may decide
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 half way 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 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 colours, call it your own

Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers a-plenty 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 the 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?

Hehe… :slight_smile:

Um…the janitor left the door open and the candles all blew out?



Doesn’t work.

Shall we go,
you and I,
while we can?

Who put the Bomp in the Bomp-Ba-Bomp-Ba-Bomp?

Who put the Ram in the Ram-a-Lam-a-Ding-Dong?

Who put the Bop in the Bop-She-Bop-She-Bop?

Who put the Dip in the Dip-Di-Dip-Di-Dip?

Who was that man? I’d like to shake his hand. He made my baby fall in love with me.