The Grateful Dead
What’s Become of the Baby
Waves of violet go crashing and laughing
The rainbow-winged singing birds fly 'round the sun
Sun bells rain down in a liquid profusion
Mermaids on porpoises 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
(calling...)
Answer comes there none
Go to sleep you child
Dream of never-ending always

Panes of crystal
Eyes sparkle like waterfalls
Lighting the polished ice caverns of Khan
But where in the looking-glass fields of illusion
Wandered the child who was perfect as dawn?

What's become of the baby
This cold December morning?
Racing
Rhythms of the sun
All the world revolves
Captured in the eye of Odin
Allah
Pray, where are you now?
All Mohammed's men
Blinded by the sparkling water
Scheherazade gethering stories to tell
From primal gold fantasy petals that fall
But where is the child
Who played with the sun chimes
And chased the cloud sheep
To the regions of rhyme?

Stranded
Cries the south wind
Lost in the regions of lead
Shackled by chains of illusion
Delusions of living and dead