Fruitman

Old man sits in an apricot tree He sees I and I sees he Old man sweet as the fruit he`s picking Knows the rhythm of nature`s ticking Gives a smile of tooth and metal Winks an eye like a falling petal Face a furrowed field of life tracks The years of the living knife He I love, he I know Seasons come, so fruitman go Through the crowd I enter in See the head of virgin skin Frail the old man`s hand I take Peace be with you Sunday shake Sweet old man he turns to me Tries to tell me what`s to be He don`t say no words at all Tears from him like fruit do fall He I love, he I know See sons that come, so fruitman go