This bitter fruit still hangs graphed in the pitch of darkness
stem stretched long from heavy weight below
blowing in the winds of maniacal hated of mankind
supported to the branch by ropes most unkind
this bitter fruit grows blotted and gross in the night
misshapen globule putrid purple and ripe  vine

Yet the hands in day light that come to harvest
will remove this fruit with respectful tender loving care
tears of sorrow pouring down their upturned faces
this bitter fruit although not eaten, still has value
a seed pod they were to harvester and seedlings
now to the cold dank earth they must return the fruit

Man was not meant to swing from trees
to blow in the breeze on the whims of time
will the day ever come when pitch darkness does not hide
when no mothers child, no lover or parent
will be graphed to trees by ropes most unkind
when this bitter fruit will become extinct