Besedila: Smog. Red Apple Falls. Red Apples.

I went down to the river
To meet the widow
She gave me an apple
It was red

I slept in her black arms
For a century
She wanted nothing in return
I gave her nothing in return
I gave her nothing in return

The ghost of her husband
Beautiful as a horse
Pulled up an apple cart
Full of millions of red apples

For us