I arrived by horse to this place one could hardly call Eden
A barren wasteland, utter nothingness as far as one could see
Only a towering gate, imposing and leaden
An before it, five thousand prisoners on their kness

With tender words I soothed my horse as he began to wail
And pulled the burrs from his tangled hair, and adorned his mane with a plait.
Gray St.Peter the Apostle fiddled with the lock to no avail
And grumbled and grunted as he stomped off from the gate

Not a single groan from the haggard throng
They only rose from their kness and crouched low to the ground
It’s a den of thieves here, boys, hear the mellow chime’s song
The crucified one hangs above, and everything’s come around

The gray-haired old man barked in anger and spite
Then called someone over to the gate once again
Someone took a rusty bolt and struck the rail with all his mignt
And into this blessed place the horde did descend

I recognized the old man by the tears on his face
It’s St.Peter - he’s an apostle, oh I am a fool I realize
Frozen apples abound in this heavenly place
But guards watch the gardens, and shot me dead between the eyes

We all long to prosper, has this been my crime?
All I wanted were friends, and a wife to fall on my coffin and wail.
For them I would gather pale pink apples sublime
But guards watch the gardens, and shoot between the eyes without fail

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

And so I fled this godforsaken place
The bit between my teeth, for oats my horses plea
My shirt stuffed with apples, along the edge I race
And will bring then to you - from Eden, too, you waited for me