from the golden tree
That apple of which I bit
and then tossed down hill
rolled down along the pit
got scuffed with mud and spit
our minds forgot
our bodies ought not
control our thought

from such beacons
do we all depart
trying to find our place,
our very own part
feeling for others souls
with are hands, without heart
to such depths all must go
getting filthy just to know
when we find a convenient answer
upwards we to flow

we take it up, hold it high
figuring that if it touched the sky
amongst us would the beacon live
free for all to share and and give
our jewel, blissful humanity slays
for amongst our rivalry is it lain

we all fight the good fight
some haven't been able to take a bite
and hide away
thinking they missed the last good day