Apple Tree

An extension of yourself

Boy, hands out, roses in the backyard

His food in the fryer

His house is on fire

All his teeth grew the wrong way in

Won't smile, but he's laughing

Daffodils over guns

He spoke to them as if they were his sons

And boy, were they pretty

He couldn't be pretty

If he was found out, they'd be cut down

Cut down the fields as he fought in the streets

And laid in the ground, below the poppies

If you had all that you wanted

If it ever could be so easy

If you had to die tomorrow

Would you still plant your apple tree?

There would of a war

You never thought

Or even asked for

An extension of yourself

An extension of yourself

An extension of yourself

An extension of yourself

An extension of yourself