Astride in the wander the apple grove
Appears before me like the old folk tale
And yes I have bit into this Granny Smith
which is bitter, not golden,
but the flavor emboldens a brew
And I can't be telling you how to believe
That between the receipts and the webbing of leaves
Despite the spread of the trees
I think Appleseed failed.

I could plant a little church easily, I mean,
I could plant it with a big wide television screen
I could put on the white suit the gemstones
And I could scream salvation every day.
And hate will stir up, hate will still win,
Whether or not the apples bob in the wind
And why are they rotting and dropping again?

Free for the foraging but private property trappings
Slapped on signs indicate that this ship has sailed.

& where the folk heroes
The old grandmothers who pride
Teaching the alphabet when coring inside
See to the seeds, where the red delicious divides?

I heard it was on Calvary
Where Johnny Appleseed died.