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William Robert Brush
As I look around tonight, in this heat there's a certain spice
Your eyes pull me in, and your body begging for sin
And I fall like the apple that's too much for the branch to hold on
Snow drifts gently down like a black hole absorbing sound
The quiet seduces me, want to give back technology
But I fall like the apple that's too much for the branch to hold ...
There are those who run the world, and the ones who get run down by it. Am I the driver behind the wheel or the fawn stuck in the road?
When hands are clasping hands and eyes look into eyes
The light goes on inside throwing doors open wide
But I fall like the apple that's too much for the branch to hold on