Stephen's Song

	This is a spoken song, done against a backing of 
	high strings. Not unlike Eamonn Andrew's unforgettably 
	majestic "The Shifting, Whispering Sands". It is a kind 
	of spoken "Windmills of your Mind". 

	Stephen is dressed in a very new-agey sort of way.
	Possibly a caftan, possibly not. His hair is silky. The  
	microphone is long and is held between his slim, sensitive  
	palms.


Stephen		The world is ever sliding
		Ever gliding, ever turning;
		Ever yearning and colliding.
		The stairs begin to creak
		You turn but cannot speak
		When the bubble starts to squeak
		And you find the truth you seek

		Chorus:
		You, yes, you, you, you
		It's you I'm speaking to.
		You ... the starling of my night
		The goddess of what seems
		You ... the sparkle of my fright
		The parcel of my dreams
		(Slowly) Just ... the ... parcel ...
		Of my ... dreams. (Whispered) Yes

		The you, why, you, you, you
		The you who do what none can do
		The you that haunts my ears
		On the shortlist of wasted rains
		The avenue of chandeliers
		That shames my frozen veins
		(Slowly) That ... shames ... my ...
		Frozen ... veins. (Whispered) Not yet

		The world is ever hiding
		Ever riding, ever burning;
		Ever churning and dividing.
		For the horse bestrides the cart
		And the temple rent apart
		Thou wilt be what thou art
		As your hand becomes your heart

		You, yes, you, you, you
		You who knows what once I knew
		The you that spits my blood
		And stares at both my clouds
		You wear a sleeve of mud
		Your cuffs become my shrouds
		(Slowly) Your ... cuffs ... become ...
		My shrouds. (Whispered) Oh why?

		You, yes, you, you, you
		Which you the what how who
		You crumple the skirts of need
		In the belly of desire
		Where my freshly planted seed
		Can spin its tangled wire
		(Slowly) Can ... spin ... its ...
		Tangled ... wire. (Whispered) Oh
		Certainly

		Thank you.