Do not surround me with wreathes of flowers Nor place upon my body the signs of a fetish Nor crescent, cross, phallus or sun But bury me in an apple orchard That I might touch your lips again Bury me in an apple orchard That I might touch your lips again
Look at me when you glance At the spring apple flower Speak of me into a breeze Blowing over your fingers Taste of me when your lips taste the froth Foaming out of the apple meat
Do not surround me with wreathes of flowers Nor place upon my body the signs of a fetish Nor crescent, cross, phallus or sun But bury me in an apple orchard That I might touch your lips again Bury me in an apple orchard That I might touch your lips againTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
