Strip me down until I'm as bare as Harlem
I never planned on as escape
As cold as an empty cellar,
I keep to myself, stay out of your way
Too bad this city's too crowded
I feel so manic, my senses on high
Buzzing around, I'm an angry hornet
My nest is too congested, but I refuse to fly
I thought I could live the Apple's Dream
but I think before I'd ripe, I'd rot
I'd rather stay fresh on the tree,
Pick if you so choose, or else when I'm ready, I'll fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem