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
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