What's Become of the Baby?
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    Waves of violet go crashing and laughing
  The rainbow-wing singing birds fly 'round the sun
  Sun bells rain down in a liquid profusion
  Mermaids on horses draw up the dawn
  What's become of the baby this cold December morning?
    Songbirds frozen in their flight
  Drifting to the earth, remnants of forgotten dreaming
  Dawning answer comes there none.
    Go to sleep you child dream of never-ending always
  Panes of crystal ice sparkle like waterfalls
  Lighting the polished ice caverns of the dawn,
  But where in the looking-glass fields of illusion
  Wandered the child who was perfect as the dawn?
  What's become of the baby this cold December morning?
  What's become of the baby this cold December morning?
    Racing in rhythms of the sun
  All the world revolves captured in the eye of woman
  Allah, where are you now?
    All eyes are blinded by the sparkling waters
  Scheherazade gathering stories to tell
  From primal gold fantasy petals that fold,
  But where is the child who played with the sunshines?
  And chased the cloud shape to the regions of mind?
  "Standing stream" cries the south wind
  Lost in the regions of
  shadow-like chains of illusion, delusions of living and dead.