Apple of His Eye

The old man took one final sip, then lay a drinker’s dream

From dusty vaults to autumn sun in ripe and rolling green

Spangled bronze and coral red, all crown a pungent sky

His harvest bleeds from noble trees and a thousand ripples fly

Chorus:

Sweet summer sun

Those drops of labour run

And shine,

Like the apple of his eye

For days and weeks, in blistering heat

These fruits will bruise and sigh

Orchard love and cider blood

Will drink the season dry

These presses grind, they creak and crush

One vat for every day

Fever burns and barrels churn

Ferment the words she laid

Chorus: