The Black Sheep in Amherst.
Somebody at the Black Sheep was busy with scissors.
My neighbor's Christmas lights through my window.
What's Become of the Baby(this cold December morn)? is the only Christmas carol ever written by the Grateful Dead. It is so psychedelic and spacey that it is hardly something the family would sing holding hands around the holiday tree, unless of course someone slipped some Owsley Blue Cheer LSD-25 into the Christmas punch.
Waves of violet go crashing and laughing
Rainbow winged singing birds fly round the sun
Sunbells rain down in a liquid profusion
Mermaids on porpoises draw up the dawn
What's become of the baby
This cold December morning?
frozen in their flight
drifting to the earth
remnants of forgotten dreaming
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?