Life is lonely for Fruit made of wood,
It never satisfies quite like it should,
Always getting hopes up then letting them down,
It must be tough only seeing people frown,
“Ooh, an apple! Nope. It isn’t
real.”
I can’t imagine how that apple must
feel
It will never be sauce, it will never be pie
It will be fruit made of wood til the day that it dies.
No comments:
Post a Comment