Shirtful of Apples

Shirtful of apples and the sky aches with rain
I'm gonna walk down to the river
While this old world aches with shame
Shirtful of apples - how our fathers complain
With their hands full of memory
And their eyes full of pain

The cider is sour
So won't you leave me alone
I'll turn your weapons all to flowers
I will make wings out of your bones

Shirtful of apples - now the orchards are gone
All the blossoms have been blinded
And in the wind something's wrong
Shirtful of apples - all the lies have been said
They take their misery to to thе gray moon
And all their sorrows to bed

The cidеr is sour
So won't you leave me alone
I'll turn your weapons all to flowers
I will make wings out of your bones