Songwriters: Farrar, Jay; Tweedy, Jeff; Heidorn, Mike
I wish, I wish my baby was bornsitting on his papa's knee
And you, poor girl, were dead and gonegreen grass growing over thee
I'm not no saint, nor I never shall be
'til the sweet apple grows
From the sour apple tree
I still hope the day will come
When you and I will walk as one
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