Apple Tree - Marika Hackman

(whistling, no accompaniment)

Here I hang from the apple tree

Oh, take a little bite, take a bite for me

Am The pain, it keeps me sane

For I am more than a taste

The taste in the mouths of the starving crowds

Oh, pulling at the leaves, pulling off to me

In Am feet first the savage dust

Don't leave me be, leave me be

Here I hang for the seated crowd

To look upon my eyes, look upon my mouth

Am And say “we were there that day

I saw a face, heard a sound”

But now I sit where they used to be

A quiet little scene of an apple tree

Am White roots and balanced fruit

The winter glowed on her leaves