• My latter’s to short
    Or the tree is too tall
    If I get up to high
    I’m bound to fall
    Never within reach
    To far away
    For ever and always
    That’s how it’ll stay
    Then the wind will blow
    And it’ll fall to the ground
    Faster and faster
    A loud thumping pound
    The seeds will shatter
    The guts will splatter
    And all that’s left is another rotten apple.