Who is the apple of my eye?
Who holds the crayon to the wall?
Suffers the Ocean,
Suffers the Sky
And suffers the Beast before the Fall?

About those woods � so deep, so fey �
No one need wonder, for I know the way.

And over those fields � so deep and so wide �
No one may wander...
And only death rides.

Who is the apple of my eye?
Who plays a pale flute by night?
Sings for the water,
Sings for her life
And sings again, that no one might

Forget.
And falter, left alone.
A song, a flute
(as white as bone),
Are all that�s left. The ancient crime