Three golden apples
And she chased every one.
Raised by Henry and Daisy and Maisy...
And searching for the sun.
And when wise counsel came to me,
"Don't do it, don't do it! Never tie."
The same as you in top hat and tails
As the addled world flashed by.

And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.

Could we worship her right now?
Could she bring back your arms to me, for me?
And I would praise the dove, the swan, the myrtle tree.
I would board your ship
Hand you my spears and cut my hair,
And tend to every battle scar
If you saved me from this mountain air.

And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.

Three golden apples
And she chased every one:
Little Atalanta
Still searching for the sun.