As crimson skies do turn to grey So young trees rattle and decay What once was golden is now bronze Once full of pros, now smeared with cons An apple, forgotten, growing old On the table, ripe with mold It was juicy just yesterday But now it's foreign as a stray As heavy hearts do hollow out So does the aching sense of doubt Once a lovely carefree spree Now, dead, crucified on the tree An apple, forgotten, painful, lonely A single apple, but it's not the only