You and your basket of oranges
As you walk the fields of trees
Make my juices turn sour
As your heart pulsates in and out
Your face turns another color
As you look into the sweet roses
If they smell pretty
They make you look it to
You have it all and are no fool
You hide behind your copy of Fountainhead
With towers tumbling over your gaze
The orange suns in your eyes
I don't want your taste
I want your teardrops
Had you wanted it all
At least you'd have the fruits of labor